


Byline

by fairmellarky



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairmellarky/pseuds/fairmellarky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Katniss Everdeen is an up and coming journalist just trying to make a name for herself. She has no time for frivolity. That is, until pretty boy Peeta Mellark comes crashing into her life. She needs to remember that sometimes things aren't what they seem. Rated M for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I finally got my AO3 account, so here it is! I do not own anything Hunger Games related, I just have a lot of feelings. All credit to Suzanne Collins. This story takes place in Philadelphia and the surrounding area, if you have any questions about landmarks or anything like that, I'd be happy to clarify. Enjoy!

"Everdeen! In my office, now!"

I hang my head at the harsh words. My editor, Haymitch, did not sound happy. I stand up in my cubicle, straighten my wrinkled skirt as best I can and head towards my doom. As I cross the newsroom floor, my colleagues shift their eyes downward to avoid making eye contact, but I know that the second the door to that office closes I am going to be the subject of some pretty ridiculous gossip. Damn, what have I done this time?

Haymitch doesn't even wait for me to sit down.

"Everdeen, what is this shit?" he spits at me, through a cloud of cigarette smoke. I see the bulge his flask makes in the breast pocket of his shirt and I know that this is going to be an interesting meeting.

"Excuse me, sir, but what shit are you talking about?" I can't help it; my tone is dripping with disdain. Right away I feel bad, Haymitch is rough around the edges, but he means well.

"Sweetheart, you know are one of the best writers I have ever met. I hired you before you even graduated college because you were so good. So why does this drivel keep coming across my desk?" he asks, tossing a few pieces of paper in my direction. A quick look at the headline tells me that it is my latest editorial on the upcoming election.

"But Haymitch, you said that I could write whatever I wanted. This is what I wanted to write about," I answer quickly.

"I know what I said, sweetheart, but this is Philadelphia Weekly. We focus on arts and entertainment. I expected you to choose a topic within those categories," he scoffs.

"Sir, you know that I want to write about politics. I'm grateful for the opportunities that you've given me, but I want to write something with substance," I begin to argue. I know it's no use, but I just can't help myself.

"Do you think our target audience gives a damn about substance? They are looking for the best concerts and events in the area. It's a free newspaper, Katniss. We don't do substance. So until you get that through that pretty little head of yours, you'll be writing about what I tell you to write about. Here's your first list of assignments. I don't want to see you until they're done. You know when deadline is," he says, effectively dismissing me as he reaches for his flask.

I grit my teeth at his condescending tone and turn towards the door. It takes every ounce of strength in my possession to not throw back a scathing remark, but I manage to get out of the office fairly quickly.

As I head back to my desk, I glance at the list of assignments, although I know there's nothing good there. A few idiotic sounding happy hour events, coverage of a local fundraiser and a restaurant review. A restaurant review? He has got to be kidding me. I roll my eyes and think to myself, "At least I'll get a free meal out of it, maybe even a decent bottle of wine."

The shit that I do for a byline.

**

"And then I said to him 'why did you even want to move in with me? You obviously don't give a shit about our future together!'"

I roll my eyes and take another sip of my wine. The merlot goes down smoothly, and I feel its warmth spreading in my stomach, massaging away the stress of the day. "Prim, you just moved in with him. Did you expect him to marry you and knock you up within two weeks?" I gaze at my sister over the rim of my glass.

"God, Katniss. Can't you ever just let me bitch? This is why you don't have a boyfriend, you're like a guy yourself," jokes my sister.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend because I'm not an idiot. Love equals pain," I reply.

"You're such a cynic. A little slice like you could have any guy you want," she says.

"I don't want anyone. Leave it alone, Prim," I say, with an edge to my voice.

My sister and I are sitting at an outdoor table at Vintage, sipping glasses of wine and rehashing the week. It has become our little Thursday night tradition after she moved out of the Fishtown apartment that we used to share and in with her boyfriend, Rory. Who, apparently, didn't give a shit about their future. I knew how dramatic my sister could be, so I took it with a grain of salt.

"Oh hey, I almost forgot. I got assigned a restaurant review, and the only time that I could schedule it was next Thursday. Would you want to tag along?" I ask my sister.

"Depends on what restaurant," she says with a noncommittal shrug and a healthy slug of wine.

"Primrose!" I feign indignation, "Are you just trying to mooch a free meal?"

"Only if it's a good one," she says, with a wink.

"Actually, I don't know. It just opened. It's called Sage, it's the new one on Chestnut St. It's supposed to be pretty good," I tell her.

"Are you kidding me? That's Peeta Mellark's new restaurant. Of course I'll be there!" she says with a squeal.

"Who the hell is Peeta Mellark?" I ask.

"You are not my sister. Don't talk to me again until you've done some research," says Prim, and with that she throws a twenty onto the table and disappears onto the crowded sidewalk.

I guess I have some research to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little shorter than I wanted it to be, but I need some feedback before I decide where to take this. Any and all comments are welcome. Some of you may hate me for the way that I'm describing Peeta, but just remember this: EVERYTHING IS NOT AS IT SEEMS! Dun dun dunnnn.

CHAPTER 2

An hour later I'm lugging my laptop, gym bag and purse out of a cab and into the lobby of my apartment building. It doesn't surprise me when I see the giant red "out of order" sign hanging on the door of the elevator, so I begin the slow march up to the sixth floor.

By the time I am standing in front of my door, I am ready for another glass of wine. Juggling my possessions, I reach for my keys to unlock the front door and promptly drop everything I'm carry.

"Shit," I mutter, although that's tame compared to what I'm really thinking. The door flies open and I'm left staring at my best friend, Gale Hawthorne.

"Now, is that any way for a lady to speak?" He arches his eyebrow.

"Damn you, Gale. Are you going to help me with all of this shit or are you as useless as I always thought you were?" I say it with a smirk, but even if I didn't he would still know that I was kidding. Gale and I have a comfortable relationship. He is the brother I never had.

"Jesus, Catnip. How are you not built like Schwarzeneggar? What do you have in here, bricks?" He grunts, lifting all of my bags and moving into the apartment.

"I've had enough of your sass, Hawthorne. What are you doing here anyway? And, there better be a glass of wine waiting for me in that kitchen," I tell him.

"I was bored, I figured you might bring Prim home with you and we could have a regular girl's night. You know, toe nail painting and popcorn and naked pillow fights!" He claps his hands and smiles angelically.

I roll my eyes and head into the kitchen. Sure enough, there's a glass of merlot waiting for me on the counter. I also spot the makings of a salad and smell something heavenly coming from a large pot on the stove. Gale comes up behind me and massages my shoulders as I take a sip of my wine. I let out a contented sigh.

"What is this, a date? You would make such a good wife," I say, putting down my wine and lifting the lid to the pot and taking a big whiff of the marinara sauce that's simmering inside.

"No, I just know that you've had a rough week, so I figured I'd come cheer you up," he tells me.

"No, more like Madge is out of town and you didn't want to stay in your apartment by yourself," I say with a laugh.

"Caught me." He throws his hands up and goes to stir the sauce.

I grab my wine and head into the living room, toeing off my shoes along the way. I slump onto the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table, mindlessly flipping through the mail. It's mostly junk, a few bills, and a postcard announcing the grand opening of Sage.

"Gale! What do you know about Peeta Mellark?" I call in the general direction of the kitchen. Gale comes out wearing my pink apron and brandishing a sauce-covered spoon like a weapon.

"Why do you ask?" he says, his eyes narrowed.

"Whoa, hostile reaction there, Gale. I'm asking because I have to write a review on his new restaurant. Prim almost disowned me when she found out I didn't know who he was," I tell him.

"Stay away from him, Katniss. He has a reputation," says Gale sternly, walking back into the kitchen.

As I wait for dinner, I wonder about Gale's strong reaction to my mention of Peeta Mellark. It irks me a little, while simultaneously making me uncomfortable, although I'm not sure why. I'm also intrigued, which is the scariest thing of all. I suddenly can't wait for my meeting to find out more, so I grab my laptop and type in a quick Google search.

My screen floods with articles from TMZ, local gossip sites, and political sites. What I learn is this: Peeta Mellark is the son of senator Hanson Mellark. He is filthy rich. He is usually photographed with supermodels. And he is gorgeous.

"I can take care of myself Gale," I call out. Although, one more glance at those blue eyes tells me that I'm not as confident as my tone would imply.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the Hunger Games. I wish I could be as awesome as Suzanne Collins. Thank you guys SOOO much for your reviews. I love you all.

The next week passes by in a blur. Haymitch continues to monitor my every move at work. I'm stuck writing about happy hours, amateur bands, and the latest exhibit at the Art Museum. It's menial, to say the least. Thursday creeps up on me faster than I would have liked it to.

"Have you learned your lesson, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks, popping his head over the edge of my cubicle as I'm putting the finishing touches on an open-mic night at Milkboy. Most of the acts were awful, but as per instructions, they all got glowing reviews. I can smell the stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey, even though he is a good four feet away.

"Shit, Haymitch. Could you invest in some cologne? Maybe shower? At least drink some higher quality booze," I say to him with a smirk.

"Oh, sweetheart. You certainly are the sunshine of our little office family. Now will you answer my question, so I can go back to wasting all of my red ink on your features?" He gives me a rare smile, but it looks like more of a grimace. With Haymitch, this is considered normal.

"Yes, Haymitch. Do you want me to write a feature about it?"I ask, sweetly, plastering a huge, fake grin on my face. He might make me grovel, and I might punch him in the head.

"Good. Since I like you so much, I did some digging for you. I found a freelance position at the Inquirer. It's not much, and you'll get paid shit, but at least you'll be able to write about more serious topics. The editor is an old buddy of mine, I put in a good word. Maybe now you'll stop complaining about the assignments I give you, huh?" he says, slapping down a packet of papers.

"Wow. Thanks, Haymitch. I didn't know you were capable of doing nice things."

"Only for you, sweetheart. Only for you," he grumbles, backing into his office and slamming the door in his usual fashion.

I look at the packet that Haymitch gave me. On the front is an email address and phone number for Seneca Crane, politics editor at the Inquirer. The following pages are samples of past articles. Lastly, there is a list of assignments and a deadline, followed by a note from Mr. Crane, asking me to email him as soon as possible to work out payroll details. I quickly pull up my email and shoot one off to Crane.

When the confirmation window pops up, I click 'yes' with a satisfied grin. I feel a fluttering in my stomach and before I can help it, an uncharacteristic giggle escapes my throat. I clap my hands over my mouth but it does nothing to quell the giddy feeling taking over my chest.

"Did I just hear Katniss Everdeen giggle?" A brunette head pops up from the cubicle to my left. She practically spits out the word 'giggle.'

"Yes, Annie. You did. If you tell anyone, I will kill you and it will be slow," I laugh.

"Now, that's the Katniss we know and love," she winks.

Annie Cresta is a sweet, if somewhat aloof, staff photographer. Sometimes it seems like she's not all there, but the girl is remarkably observant. Working next to her this past year has made us close, which is odd because I usually find myself getting along better with guys. Less drama.

"What's got you so giggly?" She eyes me up.

"Nothing too important, just a freelancing gig at the Inquirer," I tell her.

"Katniss! That is something important! It's a big deal, it's one step closer to what you want to be doing. Let's celebrate, drinks on me. Tonight, at Sugarmom's. They have that Pabst special," she says, quickly and excitedly.

"Yes! Oh, shit. No. I can't tonight, I'm sorry, I have to interview Peeta Mellark about his new restaurant," I say.

"You're interviewing Peeta Mellark?" Annie raises her eyebrow. "Girl, you better bring yourself a spare pair of panties."

An hour later, I'm walking down Sansom Street, on my way to Sage. It's raining, just barely, so I pull my jacket as far up around my ears as possible and hope that my hair doesn't turn into a frizzball by the time I get to the restaurant. As I walk, I review my questions:

What made you pick the name 'Sage?'

How large of a role do you play in the restaurant?

What made you decide to go into the restaurant business?

What influence did your father have on that decision?

I wonder to myself whether the questions seem to personal, but Haymitch seemed really keen on putting a spin on this article. Peeta Mellark, or his father at least, was a big name and his baby-blues apparently sold papers. Sometimes I feel as though I work for a tabloid.

Two quick turns and I am on Chestnut, about a block from Sage. Prim should be waiting for me out front, but all I see are people rushing to get home and out of the rain, sending disapproving glances towards the gray sky. I can't see Prim's familiar blond head anywhere.

As if on cue, my phone starts ringing in my pocket. Prim. I know what this is going to be. "Hello…"

"Katniss! I love you, you know I do," she starts.

"You're not coming," I cut her off.

"It's just that Rory surprised me with tickets to see a play at the Academy of Music and he's going to take me to Le Bec Fin! You know how much I've wanted to go there!"

"Go. Have a good time. Don't worry about me." I can't be mad at her. I've never been able to hold a grudge against my baby sister. I steal a glance at my watch and realize that I'm almost five minutes late. Way to make a good impression. I take one last deep breath, clench my jaw, and walk through the huge oak and stained glass doors.

The restaurant is done in shades of red, the walls painted a deep burgundy, with dark wood floors. Soft light comes from low hanging chandeliers and candles on every table. The furniture is an eclectic mix, different shaped tables with mismatched chairs. In places, the walls are draped with different colored fabrics, creating a comfortable atmosphere while still maintaining a quiet elegance. I feel my shoulders sag as some of the stress leaves them. The vibe in this place is one of relaxation and familiarity. Soft music, the kind you could meditate to, plays in the background, adding to the experience.

"Welcome to Sage!" A bubbly blonde wearing all black greets me.

"Hi, I actually have an appointment with Peeta Mellark. I'm Katniss Everdeen, from Philadelphia Weekly."

"Peeta's been expecting you, follow me."

She leads me to a secluded table in the corner, separated from the rest of the restaurant by a cream colored silk screen.

"He should only be a few minutes, make yourself a home," she smiles warmly at me and disappears.

I sit with my back to the wall, so I can observe the restaurant. But after a few minutes, I find myself engrossed in my notes. I'm reading and rereading them obsessively and wondering why the hell I felt so nervous. The seconds tick by and the bustle of the restaurant fades and I'm lost in my interview questions.

"I hope you don't mind the table, I thought it would be more conducive to the interview. I'm not trying to hide you, I swear." A low, silky voice says next to my ear and I jump. I look up and my eyes lock onto a pair of blue ones. Describing them as just 'blue' is an insult, though. They're a clear, ice blue with flecks of navy in them. They remind me of the lake my father and I would hike to when I was a child. Soothing and calming, they're bright, like when the sunlight dances off the surface of the water. My breath hitches and I feel like I'm drowning.

"Ahem," he coughs. "I hope I didn't startle you."

Who are you? I ask myself. Get yourself together, Everdeen!

I clear my throat and extend my hand. "Katniss Everdeen, Philadelphia Weekly."

"Peeta Mellark. Nice to meet you, Katniss," he says with a friendly smile, but I can feel his eyes flitting across every feature of my face, as if he's trying to memorize it. I shiver.

"Let's get the interview portion out of the way, then I can sample. Is that ok with you?" I ask him.

"Well I actually had one of the chefs start preparing. I figured we could eat together. It's always nicer to talk over a meal, I think," says Peeta.

I try to hide my surprise. I don't know if I'm going to be able to make it through a meal with him looking at me like that. I feel my stomach clench, but I don't want to make myself vulnerable to this man, so I take out my tape recorder, press the red button and set it in the middle of the table. Right after, our wine glasses are filled and our appetizers, a sampler platter of steak tartare, citrus glazed shrimp, and tomatoes with mozzarella, arrive at the table.

"So, Mr. Mellark," I start, and he cuts me off.

"Please, call me Peeta."

"Peeta. Tell me about the name of your restaurant. Why did you choose it?"

"Well, honestly, I chose the name Sage because the herb has medicinal as well as culinary uses. And, to me, cooking and food are like a drug. It's gotten me through a lot. And I feel as though people express themselves through food as well. You don't share meals with just anyone," He tells me, gazing up at me shyly through his thick, too curly lashes. "Sage has a savory, almost peppery taste. That taste always seems so comforting to me, like my version of soulfood. I wanted my customers to feel like coming to my restaurant was a therapeutic experience."

My fork stops halfway to my mouth. For a narcissistic playboy, that answer was deep.

As if he could read my mind, Peeta continues, "I'm not what you think I am, Katniss. I'm well aware of my reputation. But that doesn't mean that it's based in fact."

I shift in my seat uncomfortably. "So, uh, Mr. Mellark. How involved are you in the restaurant?"

I see the shift in his eyes as he answers the rest of my questions politely.

Two hours later, I find myself on my couch with my stocking clad feet propped up on the coffee table. I sip a glass of wine and flip Peeta Mellark's business card through my fingers.

"Call me if you have any more questions, I'm available all the time," he said as he flipped the card over and wrote his cell number on the back.

I'm not going to lie, I'm a little tipsy. A different wine was served with each course of our meal and I didn't help matters by cracking a bottle of merlot as soon as I got home. I needed to quell the rolling in my stomach that my meeting with Peeta had left me.

I smile to myself as I flip the card over and see Peeta's narrow, slanted handwriting. I don't know why, but the I couldn't get the image of the tall, chiselled blond with the ice blue eyes out of my head. Even though I knew it was a mistake I picked up my phone and typed out a text message:

Peeta, it's Katniss. What are you doing tonight?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks SO much to my awesome beta, safe-always-real. I don't know what I would do without you! This one's for you :)

The first thing that my groggy brain registers is the dryness of my mouth. I feel like I swallowed the Sahara. I squint as sunlight streams through my window, trying to get my bearings. I try to roll over, but my stomach rebels. My eyes finally adjust and I register the deep green of my sheets.

Ok, I’m in my bed. That’s a start, I think to myself.

Finally suppressing the riot in my stomach, I roll over and sit up. A glance down tells me that I’m still wearing the dark blue skinny jeans and coral tank top from last night, although my cardigan is nowhere to be found. I do spot my flats, one on the windowsill and the other spilling out of my purse. I have no idea where my phone is.

My first thought is that I need to get water into my system. Water and Advil. I slowly climb out of bed and strip to my boyshorts. I reach into my closet and pull out a beat up, off the shoulder t-shirt and pull it on. The stiffness of my limbs makes me wonder just what the hell happened last night.

Worry about that later, Everdeen. First things first.

I stagger into the living room and stop in my tracks. There is a pair of leather boat shoes next to the door. They are entirely too big for my size seven feet. I tiptoe a little further into the room and spot a blue button down shirt flung over the arm of the recliner and a man-sized lump on the couch, covered in my Grandma Sae’s wedding quilt.

What. The. Fuck.

I tiptoe around to the other side of the couch and peer over the arm, trying to get any idea of who my guest is.

Is it Gale? Please, let it be Gale.

The blonde hair sticking out from underneath the blanket tells me that it is most certainly not my best friend. I reach down and shift the blanket the tiniest bit, so I can get a better look at his face. Long, curly blonde lashes brush the tops of his cheeks and his face is relaxed, making him look peaceful. Innocent, almost. I snort. There’s nothing innocent about Peeta Mellark. I can’t help admiring how beautiful he is. His strong, square jaw is slack and, from the position of his head, I can see the profile of straight, Roman nose and full lips.

He lets out a soft sigh and shifts in his sleep, breaking my trance. I mentally kick myself for falling under his spell, even if it was only for a moment. I stride quickly and purposefully to the other end of the couch, grasp the quilt and jerk it off of his form in one sweeping movement.

He only burrows deeper into the couch, trying to avoid the cold. I don’t let myself think about the fact that he’s shirtless, grab the throw pillow out from under his head and promptly smack him in the face with it. He jerks upright and I catch a glimpse of his ocean eyes as he looks around, startled. Don’t look him in the eyes, Everdeen.

“What the fuck?!” he gasps.

“What the fuck, indeed! What are you doing on my couch?” I snarl.

“Oh, Katniss.”He leans back on the couch like he owns the place, putting his feet up on the coffee table. He runs his hand through his blonde curls and leans his head back, closing his eyes.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t want to leave you here alone; I didn’t know what was going to happen.”  
I walk to where his feet are resting on my table and push them off. Who the hell does he think he is?

“What do you mean, you wanted to make sure I was okay? I never asked for your help. How did you even get in here anyway?” I demand.

He looks up at me through his lashes, his eyes foggy with sleep and confusion. Worry is etched through every line of his face until, suddenly, his nose crinkles and the corners of his mouth turn up in a lopsided grin. A deep chuckle escapes his lips. This ass is laughing at me.

“Oh, no. Oh, Katniss. You really don’t remember?” He lets loose a few more chuckles, and then bursts into all out, belly-shaking laughter. “I knew I should have stopped you after your second Jager bomb.”

I plop down on the couch next to him, careful to keep at least a few inches of distance between us.

“How do you feel? Can I get you anything?”

“Peeta, I am not kidding. Why are you here?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Katniss, do you really not remember?” He reaches over to the end table and grabs my phone. “Here. Look.” He tosses the phone to me and I fumble for a moment.

I scroll through my phone, starting with the text messages.

Peeta, it’s Katniss. What are you doing tonight?

Meet me at Gunner’s Run. It’s at the Piazza in Northern Liberties.

Pleeeease?!

;)

I cringe. For a moment, I actually feel as though I can’t breathe. I am an idiot.

“Peeta, look, I was drunk. I’ve never done anything like this. Ever. I am not that kind of girl,” I begin.

“Katniss, I know. It’s fine. Seriously. We went out, had a few drinks, and nothing happened. I just wanted to make sure you were ok, and then I was a little tipsy, too, so I didn’t want to drive home. I put you in your bed and came out to the couch. I swear,” he tells me.

Bits and pieces of the night start to come back to me as he talks. I do not remember texting him. I remember meeting him at the bar. I remember drinking mason jars of a cocktail aptly named The Suckerpunch. I remember walking back to my apartment and stumbling, causing Peeta to grab me and throw me over his shoulder. I also remember him holding back my hair in my bathroom. I am such an ass.

As the memories come flooding back, Peeta walks across the room and starts buttoning his shirt back up. He slips on his shoes and puts his wallet and keys into his pockets. 

Then he picks up my jacket and tosses it to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“It’s chilly out. So chilly, in fact, that you might want to put some pants on,” he smirks.

I look down and realize for the first time during this whole exchange that I’m still in my boyshorts. I can feel my face heat up as I lunge for the couch, grab the quilt, and wrap it around my waist.

“I’ll wait out here, no?” He raises his eyebrows up and down as he says it.

“Where are we going? And why would you just assume that I would go with you?” I ask defiantly.

“The best thing for a hangover is a big, greasy breakfast. Get dressed. I’m hungry.”

**  
I stand outside the back entrance of the Art Museum and watch as Peeta strides towards the Water Works Restaurant.

“Peeta! Where are you going? That restaurant doesn’t open for another 2 hours,” I call across the lawn.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it.” He winks.

I hurry across the grass, morning dew making the sides of my ballet flats damp. Damn, I just bought these shoes. This had better be worth it. I pick up the pace and skid to a stop behind Peeta. He pulls out a key and smirks over his shoulder at me as he unlocks the door.

“But, how…” I ask, dumbfounded.

“The owner is a friend of my father’s. He helped me get my own place off the ground,” he explains.

Of course. Peeta ‘I’m connected’ Mellark. 

“Yeah, but there happens to be a little problem with your scheme, Mellark. There’s no one here. What will we eat?” I counter smugly.

“Hi. Chef,” he says, pointing at his chest and as he moves into the restaurant and pulls me in with him. Something about being in the restaurant when it’s not open makes me feel like I’m trespassing. I tiptoe behind Peeta as he strides towards the kitchen, taking in the quiet elegance of the dining room.

The ceilings are high and everything is bright and airy. Cream colored walls with gold accents glow in the sunlight that filters through the floor to ceiling windows, and everything seems to sparkle. I’ve always wanted to eat here, but it’s a bit too pricey for my journalist’s salary.

Just like in my apartment, Peeta starts moving around the kitchen like he owns the place. He strides into the walk-in refrigerator and calls me over.

“Put out your arms.”

I stretch out my arms and he starts piling ingredients into them: eggs, spinach, feta cheese and tomatoes. He pulls a few more things off the shelf and ushers me back into the kitchen. 

I settle myself onto a stool next to the island where Peeta is working and watch him. He works with a quiet intensity. He minces everything into a large bowl, then pours everything into a large, round pan and sticks it in the oven.

“Frittata,” he says, as he closes the door and flashes me a brilliant smile. “That’s not the best part, though.”

He pulls out a few more things and goes to work. A few cups of flour, a pinch of salt, a little bit of cinnamon. He doesn’t even measure out the ingredients, acting on instinct. A contented look comes over his face, similar to the childlike, innocent look he had when he was asleep. I’m in awe as I watch him.

He dumps the contents of the bowl onto the counter, sprinkles some flour and starts kneading. With every push and pull the muscles in his arms flex. He manipulates the dough through his long fingers and I blush as I find myself wondering how he got to be so good with those hands.

Before long we’re sitting around the island, dishing out heaping portions of frittata onto our plates. Peeta’s biscuits cool in between us. I grab one and break it open, inhaling the slightly sweet aroma. A soft moan escapes my lips as my mouth waters.

“I like that sound,” says Peeta softly, looking up at me through his eyelashes.

I blush. No, Katniss. You will not be another one of his conquests.

“So, uh, Peeta, why did you start cooking?” I ask, trying to shake the chill that just settled itself in my spine.

“Oh, no, Miss Everdeen. You already got to interview me. It’s my turn,” he says.

“Well, what do you want to know?” I ask. I’m not used to talking about myself. That’s why I became a journalist; I’m really good at deflecting the attention onto other people.

“Everything,” he whispers. The quiet intensity returns and I shift in my seat, uncomfortable.

“Well, I have a sister. I went to Penn State. I majored in corporate communications with a concentration in journalism. That’s pretty much all there is to know about me,” I tell him.

“There was only thing that you mentioned in that sentence that wasn’t academic-related. And your eyes lit up right now when I mentioned her,” says Peeta.

“Well, she’s my best friend. We had a rough childhood and I’ve always taken care of her. We’ve taken care of each other,” I say, choosing my words carefully.

“I’m not trying to pry, but why did you have a rough childhood?” His concerned blue eyes lock into my gray ones and I know that no matter how much I try, I’m not going to be able to keep anything from him.

“My dad died when we were young. He worked at Dow Chemical and there was an explosion. He was killed, along with my best friend Gale’s father. After that my mom kind of checked out and I had to be there for Prim. She’s the most important person in my life,” I tell him, surprised at my own honesty. I don’t like to talk about the events of my childhood, but something about Peeta makes my carefully constructed walls crumble.

“Wow, Katniss. That’s rough. Prim’s lucky to have such a strong sister,” he says, and I like it that he doesn’t say he’s sorry. There’s nothing I hate more than insincere condolences. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me.

I notice the clock out of the corner of my eye. “Oh shit, it’s almost 11! Peeta, we have to go.”

We both jump up and start cleaning up the kitchen. When it’s spotless, we head out of the restaurant and Peeta locks the front door behind him.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling up outside of my apartment building. Peeta puts the car into park and turns on the hazard lights. He opens his door, strides around to my side and opens my door. He offers me his hand and I’m slightly stunned. I take it and allow him to help me out of the low convertible.

“Peeta, you don’t have to…” I begin.

“Stop it, Katniss. It’s going to happen.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and steers me towards the door of my building. A few minutes later, we’re outside of my door.

“Thank you for breakfast. It was wonderful. And thank you for taking care of me last night, I appreciate it,” I say.

Peeta doesn’t answer. Before I can react, he shifts so that he’s standing in front of me and I’m leaning against the door. He presses his body flush against mine and cradles my face with his strong hands. I’m frozen as he lowers his head towards me and crashes his lips onto mine.

His lips are soft and full. My traitorous mouth moves against his of its own accord. I feel his lips part and his tongue is caressing my bottom lip, asking to be granted access. 

Before it goes too far, I plant my hands firmly on his chest and give a swift, firm push.

He looks up at me, rejection shining in his eyes. I blink and look away, not allowing myself to react to his emotion. I set my jaw and take a step away from him.

“Peeta Mellark, I am not just another notch in your bedpost. I know your reputation. I have worked too hard and for too long to let myself get carried away with some pretty boy womanizer. You think I don’t recognize the signs? You think you can just charm yourself right into my pants. Well, you’re wrong. I’m not just going to giggle as I fall into your bed. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but that’s where it ends. I apologize for acting the way I did, but I’m not impressed with your smooth moves and pickup lines,” I say, with an edge to my voice. I’m not sure how much of that speech was truthful, but it was impressive and, goddamn it, I’m sticking to it.

Peeta takes a step back, and his hurt expression is almost more than I can bear. I focus on a smudge on the wall behind him and try to steel my resolve.

“Katniss, I just thought…” he begins.

“Don’t, Peeta. Don’t make it any more awkward than it already is. Just go,” I say to him, trying to hold my voice steady.

He gives me one last lingering look and then turns. I see the slump in his shoulders, the sagging of his chest. I try not to let myself feel bad, but my heart wrenches a bit as he walks away.

Don’t even go there, Everdeen. Love equals pain, remember?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes out to hotpielookedlikehotpie for being the sweetest person ever and offering unwaivering support, safe-always-real for being the best beta a girl could ask for, and falafelwaffel for being such a great friend/wife. Also, it goes without saying that Im clearly not as awesome as SC and I own nothing The Hunger Games related. I just like playing with her characters.

I stand there for a little bit, slumped against the door frame. My heart is pounding and my palms are sweaty. I can’t seem to catch my breath. I silently curse myself – I don’t want Peeta Mellark to make me feel this way. I can’t let him. I reach behind me and twist the knob, stumbling backwards into my too empty, too lonely apartment.

What the hell was that? A part of me instantly regrets shutting him down; it wants to know what could happen if I let him into my life. The other, louder part of me screams that I’m doing the right thing. I’m wavering between anger and sadness, and it’s getting confusing. I also cannot ignore the heavy lump in my chest and the burning ache between my legs, caused by a need that had long been dormant - until Peeta kissed me.

I pace the living room for a while in silence, my mind racing. I can’t seem to focus on any one thought or emotion. There are just too many and I’m not used to dealing with them. I’m used to bottling everything up and stopping it firmly. There is no one in this situation for me to revert attention to, though; it’s just me and my out of control emotions. Stuck here. Alone. And I really don’t like feeling out of control.

I stalk into the kitchen and fill up the kettle. I put it on the stove and busy myself getting out the teabags and honey. I reach into the cabinet blindly, pulling out the first bottle. Sage. 

I can’t deal with this. I have to get out of this damn apartment.

*

I step into the early afternoon and automatically turn my face up to the sunshine. I take a deep breath and drink it in, already feeling the soothing effects tingling through my fingers and toes. The outdoors has always held a special place in my heart; it’s like therapy for me. Every time I smell the fresh air or feel the weather on my face, it brings back memories of my father. It was a love that we shared. Living in the city isn’t very conducive to that love, though.

I gather myself together and start walking. There is a chill in the air, although the signs of spring are everywhere. Dandelions struggle to sprout through the cracks in the sidewalk and the cacophony of birdsong is everywhere. I’m only wearing a cardigan so I keep my stride brisk, even though I’m walking aimlessly.

After a few quick turns, I find myself standing in front of Tea Bar. My legs had carried me to the one person I needed to talk to, even if I didn’t particularly want to talk to her.

I step inside the tea shop and am hit by a blast of warm air. It feels good after the crisp air from outside. I weave my way through the open, airy shop and try to psych myself up for the lecture I’m about to get. I’m so concentrated that I don’t even notice the garish yellow “Wet Floor” sign. My feet are out from under me and I’m flat on my back before I can even register what’s going on.

“Have a nice trip, brainless?” A smug face hovers above me.

“If you were anyone else I would expect you to help me up, but you’re the Johanna we all know and love,” I say, grasping a chair and hauling myself up off the tile floor.

“Well, you’re the idiot who can’t read or recognize giant bright yellow signs, apparently. Why should I help you?” She answers with her typical sarcasm.

Johanna goes behind the counter and starts rustling around. I know that she is making me my favorite Earl Grey latte. She’s a little rough around the edges, but she is a good friend; probably my best friend, besides Gale, of course. Gale and I are almost the same person, but Johanna’s blunt boldness is my exact opposite. It seems to work, though.

“So what made you drag your ass all the way down here to see me? Must be big, I haven’t seen you in weeks,” she asks me, mixing ingredients.

“I’ve been busy, Jo. And the phone works both ways, you pain in the ass,” I laugh. Johanna usually brings out the worst of my sarcastic humor.

“Don’t forget that I’m making your drink right now.” She lifts an eyebrow and gives me a pointed look. “Seriously, Katniss. What’s up?”

“Well, I met a guy,” I start, but am cut off almost immediately.

“Wait a second. Did I hear you correctly? Katniss ‘I’m a big fat prude’ Everdeen met a man? A man with a penis?” she says in disbelief.

“Jesus, Jo! Do you need to always be so ridiculously crass? Yes, I met a guy. A person of the male gender that I am attracted to. But nothing is going to happen, I made sure of that.” After the words are out of my mouth I realize that it’s the first time I’ve admitted, to myself or anyone else, that I am attracted to Peeta Mellark. No matter how much I’d like to deny it, I know it’s true. His big blue eyes, tousled blond hair, and broad shoulders have been flashing through my mind all day. I feel my cheeks grow hot and try to cover my face before Johanna sees.

“Katniss! I see that blush! What did you do, you idiot?” she practically shouts.

“Johanna, I can’t get involved with him. I can’t let anything get in the way of my career. You know how much I’ve wanted to be a writer and now it’s finally working out for me. I can’t let myself get caught up in a man, no matter how beautiful he is.” I blush again.

“Beautiful, you say? Tell me about this slice of man meat,” she says, leaning over the counter and wiggling her eyebrows.

I roll my eyes at her. “You know what he looks like. It’s Peeta Mellark.”

“No effing way. How did you land that little slice of fuckberry pie?”

As much as I want to punch her, I can’t help but laugh at her. “Jo, you have a mouth like a sailor on leave. You’re lucky there aren’t any customers in here.”

“Who are you kidding, brainless? There are never any customers in here. I’m lucky I’m in a rent controlled building or else I would have been shut down a long time ago. But don’t you dare try to change the subject. I want to know more about this Peeta Mellark,” she says, trying to inject a stern note into her voice and failing.

“There’s nothing to tell. I drunk texted him last night. We went out and this morning he made me breakfast. He kissed me and I shut him down. But now I can’t stop thinking about him,” I confess.

“Okay, time for some real talk, Everdeen. And I don’t get mushy on you, like, ever. So listen up, because it’s probably never going to happen again.” She walks out from behind the counter, places my drink in front of me and plops herself down into the chair across from me. “I know that you are scared. I know that you are terrified of turning into your mother. 

But it’s not fair to you if you keep doing this to yourself. This is the first guy that I’ve ever heard you talk about, and that must mean that he’s pretty special. So don’t let this opportunity pass. You deserve this.”

“But Jo, you know his reputation. He’s a womanizer and I don’t have time for that,” I counter.

“Has he given you any indication that his intentions are less than pure? It’s early, but you’ve obviously spent enough time with him that it would be apparent by now,” she says.

“Well, no but –” I start, before she cuts me of again.

“Then give it a chance. Simple as that,” she says, successfully injecting the stern note into her voice this time. The bell above the door tinkles and she looks up as a young couple walks through the door. “Now get your ass out of here. I finally have some customers.”

I walk back to my apartment, repeating the conversation in my head over and over.

*

I climb the steps of my apartment building and turn the corner towards my door. I am greeted with a cheerful yellow and purple bouquet sitting on my welcome mat. I sigh and walk towards it. As I get closer, I see that it’s comprised of violets and daffodils. It seems like an odd combination to me, so I wrack my brain, trying to remember what my father taught me about flowers and their meanings. It clicks in my brain as I pick up the card: violets represent faithfulness and daffodils mean chivalry. Somebody knows their stuff. I flip the card.

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘don’t judge a book by its cover?’” is scrawled in his slanted handwriting. It isn’t signed, but I know exactly who sent it.  
I let myself into my apartment and set the flowers on the counter. I’ll deal with them later. In the meantime, I plop down on the couch and turn on the television. I want to watch something mindless and distracting. I settle on an old episode of How I Met Your Mother.

The sound of a key sliding into the lock on my front door startles me. I panic for a second, but relax when Gale pops his head around the door.

“Hey, Catnip. What’s up,” he sighs. His hair is mussed, probably from running his fingers through it. He has dark circles under his eyes and he looks like he’s lost a few pounds.

“Wow, Gale, you look like shit.”

“You always were a charmer, Catnip. Madge and I have been fighting. I think she wants me to move out,” he tells me.

“What? What happened? She just got back and you two are into it already?” I ask.

“It’s always the same, you know how it is. She wants to get married and have babies and I’m just not there yet,” he sighs.

“Gale, you’ve been with her for almost five years. No offense, but how much longer do you need?” I say cautiously. Gale can get really sensitive about his relationship issues and I don’t want him blowing up on me.

“I just don’t know that she’s the one, Katniss.”

I drop the remote and turn to him, locking my eyes onto his. “What do you mean she’s not the one, Gale? Like I said, you’ve been together almost 5 years!”

He breaks eye contact and runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. Make me a drink? I could use one,” he asks. His voice is so pathetic, it tugs at my heart.

“Sure, come into the kitchen,” I tell him.

He follows me into the other room and I open up the freezer, pulling out my secret Grey Goose stash.

“I don’t know what I have for mixers; I think maybe some cranberry juice. Or I could do martinis., I’m pretty sure I have some dry vermouth in the cabinet,” I start, turning to face him.

Gale is standing next to the counter, holding the card from the bouquet.

“Hey! Stop being so nosy, Gale,” I say.

“These are from him, aren’t they?” he asks.

“What do you mean? Are they from Peeta? Yes, they are. Why is it any of your business?” I ask him. I know where this is going, and I don’t have the energy to deal with it.

“I told you to stay away from him, Katniss,” he says with a little too much venom in his voice.  
I narrow my eyes at him. “Yeah, well, lucky for me I’m a big girl and can make my own decisions. Seriously, mind your own business.”

“You know what? I don’t need this shit. Whatever, Katniss.” He turns on his heel and stalks out of the kitchen. I hear the door slam and I am left standing in my kitchen with the bottle of vodka in my hand. Gale has always been protective of me, but this is out of control. I’m confused and angry and I’m not really sure how to handle this situation.

I open the bottle and take a swig.

*

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on my couch, sipping on a cosmo and looking over my notes for the Sage review. I flip through the pages and stare at the blank document open on my laptop. Peeta’s business card falls out of the notebook and I see his familiar scrawl on the back. It makes me think of the card. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Cliché, but effective. Before I know it, my legs are carrying me out the door and in the direction of Sage. I don’t let myself think, I just go with it.

A cab ride and a short walk later, I’m standing outside of the restaurant. I don’t even know if he’s here. I just know that for some reason, I have a strong urge to see him. I can’t control it, it just has to happen. I walk through the front door and am greeted by the same bubbly blonde from the night before.

“Hi! I remember you! You liked us so much, you just had to come back, huh?” she asks.

“Um, actually, is Peeta here? I need to talk to him,” I tell her.

“Well he’s actually in a meeting right now; I could call back to his office. I don’t think he will be able to come out, though. This is a pretty important one,” she says, picking up the phone at the hostess stand and dialing an extension. She turns away from me and lowers her voice. All I can make out is a quiet murmur, I can’t distinguish any words.

She hangs up abruptly and turns to me, her eyes clouded with confusion. “He says he’ll be right up.”

After a few minutes, I see Peeta emerge from the back hallway and my stomach flips. He gracefully winds his way through the dining room, his eyes locked on mine. I can sense his urgency, even though he is doing a good job of hiding it. He gets closer and I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

“Thanks, Delly. Could you give us a minute?” He addresses the blonde but keeps his eyes on mine. He grabs my hand and pulls me off to the side, into an alcove. He waits until Delly is distracted before speaking again. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

I don’t know what to say. I really don’t know why I’m here. I just know that I couldn’t stay away. I can’t very well tell him that, though.

“I, uh, just wanted to apologize for earlier. I was kind of a bitch,” I say to him, lowering my eyes in shame as I realize that it’s true.

“You don’t have to apologize, Katniss. I’m glad you’re here though. I have some people in my office. Let me kick them out. Come on.” He grabs my hand again and I feel a little jolt at the skin-to-skin contact. He tugs me towards the back of the restaurant.

“No calls or visitors, Delly,” he calls over his shoulder.

We wind our way through the restaurant and into the back hallway. 

“Wait here,” he says, disappearing into his office. A few minutes later, two men in suits shuffle past me. I focus on my shoes as a blush blooms across my cheeks. Peeta doesn’t even wait until they are gone; he reaches out and pulls me inside, slamming the door behind me.

“I can’t say this isn’t a pleasant surprise, Katniss,” he says, perching himself on the corner of his desk. I stand in front of him, shuffling awkwardly, not sure what to do with my hands.

“Here, sit down.” He moves across the room to a plush sofa, plopping down on it and patting the seat next to him. I make my way over and start towards the opposite side of the couch, but on second thought, sit down on the middle cushion right next to him.

I angle my knees towards him. He reaches over and places his hand on mine, stroking my fingers with his thumb. Before I can even think about it, I lean over and catch his lips with mine.

He jumps in surprise but returns the kiss without missing a beat. I reach up and tangle my hands in his hair as his arms wrap around my waist and pull me so that my torso is flush against his and I’m all but sitting on his lap.

I gasp when he breaks the kiss and his lips travel down my neck, sucking and biting in all the right places. I shift so that I’m straddling his lap and my hips buck against him when he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

“Shh. I want this,” I answer him. I didn’t know it until that moment, but I do want this. I don’t know if I’m thinking with my head or some other body parts, but this feels so right.

He doesn’t respond, just snakes his hands up and under my shirt to settle on my hips. He jerks me towards him and I can feel his hardness through my jeans. A soft moan escapes my lips and he does it again, angling himself so he hits my clit. Electricity jolts through my limbs, all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.

He licks all the way up my neck, to my ear. “That is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.”

I moan again. He flips us over so that we’re lying along the couch, him on top. He grinds his hips against mine and pulls my shirt up. He tugs down the cup of my bra and attaches his mouth to my nipple. My hips rise to meet his as he rocks against me and my vision starts to blur. I don’t think I can hold on much longer.

“Peeta, ah, I think I’m going to come,” I gasp into his hair.

“Then come,” he says before continuing to move his mouth over my breasts. His words, more than anything, are my undoing. My whole body tenses up and I start to shiver. Light bursts behind my eyelids as my orgasm washes over me. I can’t control the moans escaping my throat.

Peeta stills as I find my way back to earth, and he lays his head on my chest, gasping. As I regain my wits, I realize that I can still feel his hardness between my legs. He sits up and pulls me with him.

“Peeta, I, uh…” I say, gesturing towards the bulge in his pants.

“No, Katniss. It’s ok. I just wanted to make you feel good,” he says before brushing his lips against mine once again.

“I’m really sorry about that, I didn’t come here for something like that to happen,” I say, embarrassed.

“Whatever your intentions were, I’m glad it happened. I’ve been waiting a long time for someone like you to come around, Katniss Everdeen,” he says, tipping my chin up so that our eyes meet, blue on gray. “I really don’t want you to be embarrassed. We’re consenting adults.”

“Well, what now?” I ask him. 

“I take you on a proper date. You get to know me, I get to know you. I want to do this the right way, Katniss, regardless of what just happened,” he says. I don’t know why, but his voice soothes me.

“Ok. A proper date it is then,” I agree.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to saferealalways for being such an amazing beta, as always. Thank you also to Falafel for being such an amazing wife and life partner. As always, I don’t own anything THG related, all credit goes to the talented Suzanne Collins

The weekend passes quickly and uneventfully, as does the next week. I’m no longer the grunt man at work, but Haymitch has been keeping a stern eye on me, and he hasn’t been shy about it. By Thursday, I’m exasperated and it shows. I haven’t been sleeping well, kept up at nights by dreams of blue eyes. And I know it’s evident on my face.

“No offense, Katniss, but you look…tired,” says Annie carefully, popping her head over the cubicle wall and startling me out of my trance.

“I look like shit, Annie. You can say it.”

“Ok. You look like shit, Everdeen. What’s going on with you?” She walks around and perches herself on the corner of my desk. 

“I don’t know, Ann. Ok, that’s a lie. It’s Peeta.” I fill her in on the events of last week and my resulting embarrassment. I feel my cheeks heat up as I tell her the story. I’m still cringing inwardly that I let it get so far out of my control. By the end, my face is in my hands and my eyes are screwed shut so I don’t have to see her reaction.

“That. Is. So. Hot. How did you stop yourself?” I look up to see Annie’s wide grin. I’m surprised that she’s not blushing harder than I am; usually she is so much more shy.

“Let’s not get into the grisly details at work. What are you doing tonight? It’s girls night for me and Prim and all we’re going to do is order take out and watch movies. Want to come over?” I ask her. Knowing the two of us, a copious amount of wine will be consumed and Prim will end up crashing on my couch. “Bring an overnight bag; you can crash if we drink too much. I’ll probably just end up inviting Jo too, if that’s ok.” 

“Sounds like so much fun! I’ll be over at 6. Can’t wait to hear the dirty details.” she calls over her shoulder as she walks back to her desk and I cringe at her volume. Thanks for the subtlety, Annie.

I spend the rest of the afternoon working on a review for a play showing at the Academy of the Arts and thoroughly avoiding Haymitch. When 5 o’clock rolls around, I head out into the late afternoon sunshine, already feeling rejuvenated at the thought of a night with my sister and best friends. As I stroll, I call Johanna.

“What?”

“Lovely to talk to you, too. What are you doing tonight?” I ask her.

“I’ve got a hot date with Channing Tatum and my vibrator, why do you ask?”

“Ahh, I see that you went ahead and ordered that copy of Magic Mike. Bring it over to my house tonight; Annie and Prim are coming over.”

“Absolutely not. My vibrator is much better company when Channing Tatum is in his underwear,” she snorts.

“I’ve got wine…”

“Fine, but I’m not bringing Magic Mike. That gets saved for later, when I’m alone.”

I laugh as I press the END button. I knew the wine would get her.

*

Two hours later, my friends and sister are packed into my little living room, munching on Pad Thai from Circles and sipping wine. Some chick flick plays in the background as we chat about a little of this and a little of that.

“Holy crap, I am so full. I love Circles,” says Prim, pushing her pineapple chicken around on her plate.

“If you hadn’t moved into Center City with your boyfriend, you could have it with me all the time,” I pretend to pout.

“Speaking of boyfriends, tell us all about yours Katniss,” says Annie with a wink.

“Annie Cresta, you traitor. He is not my boyfriend.”

“Well he’s something, you have to admit,” she says.

“Nope, nothing.” I cross my arms and set my jaw. I am not going there tonight.

“She’s not talking, honey. Not unless…” Johanna trails off as she jumps up and runs into my kitchen. I know exactly what she’s doing, she knows me all too well.

Sure enough, she saunters back into the living room with the bottle of Grey Goose from my freezer and three shot glasses. 

“Twenty questions. If you don’t answer, you have to take a shot. If you do answer, you get to ask the next question. If you don’t, you are skipped,” announces Johanna, filling up the shot glasses and setting them down on the coffee table. Plates are tossed aside and everyone gathers around the table. Johanna plunks the vodka bottle down in the middle of the table.

“I’ll start,” says Johanna. “Katniss, how old were you when you lost your virginity?”

I know what she’s doing. She knows I won’t answer a question like that in front of Prim so she’s trying to get me to take shots. I take the bait and down the clear liquor inside   
my “J’aime Montreal” shot glass.

“Fair enough. Annie, your turn.”

“Um, how long has it been since you’ve been laid, Johanna?” asks Annie, her cheeks reddening.

“Too damn long. More specifically, about six months,” she answers.

“Prim, would you ever have a threesome with Rory and another girl?” Johanna directs at my baby sister.

A few more raunchy sexual questions and several shots later, I’m a little fuzzy. I know that Johanna has achieved her goal, and I cross my fingers under the table that I get skipped. 

I’m lucky for a few rounds, but on Prim’s next turn my luck flies right out of the window.

“Katniss, how far have you gone with Peeta? I know he spent the night here last week.” She waggles her perfectly plucked eyebrows at me.

“Primrose Everdeen, why are you doing this to me?” I groan.

“Answer the question! Answer it!” chides Johanna, everyone’s favorite instigator.

“Um. Well. I went to see him the other day, to apologize for getting so drunk the night before. And we kissed. And did some other stuff.” I cover my face.

“Oh, just tell them,” prods Annie.

“We kissed. And he took my shirt off. And then there was some rubbing. And I came,” I say. I can feel my cheeks burn.

Johanna’s eyes are wide. “What?! Seriously?”

I close my eyes and nod.

“Well, come on then! How was it?” she asks.

“It was good, ok?! It was really good. He knows exactly what he’s doing and he turned me to mush. Anything else you’d like to know?” 

“Um, hello? Are you going to bone? That’s what I want to know,” Johanna goads.

“Hopefully,” giggles Prim, exchanging a look with Annie.

I just blush harder.

*

The next morning I wake up in my underwear and spooning with Johanna. I’m a little fuzzy from the alcohol, but otherwise fine. Nowhere near as hungover as I was that morning   
with Peeta. I push Jo’s arm off of me and she rolls over, pulling the covers over her head. I don’t even bother trying to wake her up.

I dress quickly and grab my messenger bag. I head to the front door, picking my way through the living room. I step over Annie’s sleeping form and the empty Grey Goose bottle. 

The place is a mess but I don’t have time to deal with it right now.

I nudge Annie with my toe. “Ann, wake up,” I hiss. “Do you have to go to work?”

“No, stop. Ugh. Temple game at one. Nothing to shoot before that. Want sleep,” she mumbles.

“Alright, I have a meeting at the Inquirer. Don’t worry about cleaning up. Call me later,” I tell her. She just groans.

I know that Prim has the day off before she switches her shift at the hospital, so I leave her alone. 

Walking down the street towards the Market-Frankford line, my mind wanders to Peeta. I shouldn’t be surprised, like it or not he has occupied the majority of my thoughts since the encounter in his office. I find myself cringing as he invades my thoughts once again.

Do I want to sleep with him? Do I want to get involved with him? I certainly know all about his reputation, which is a little off-putting. But when I’m with him he seems different somehow. He doesn’t seem capable of living up to his reputation. I want to keep my guard up, but it’s hard. Really hard.

I look up to see myself standing in front of the Inquirer building. I don’t even remember getting here. I shake my head, trying to physically clear Peeta out of my mind before I open the door and walk up to the receptionist.

A few minutes later, I’m seated in front of a large, dark wooden desk. It’s pristine, organized and sparkling clean, with no personal touches whatsoever. It’s a far cry from Haymitch’s desk. A shiny bronze plaque is nailed to the front and reads “Seneca Crane: Managing Editor.” The seat behind it is unoccupied.

After a minute or two of trying to calm my breathing and wringing my hands, the door opens and Crane strides into the office confidently and with the grace of a man that thinks highly of himself. He’s tall and slender, with perfectly coiffed hair and an impeccably trimmed goatee. His suit is crisp and his shoes are polished. 

He makes his way behind the desk and sits down into the smooth leather chair, tucking his long legs under that desk and folding his hands across the surface before taking me in.   
He studies my appearance before finally meeting my eyes.

“Miss Everdeen. You have been highly recommended to me by Mr. Abernathy. He is a drunk and a slob but a damn good editor, so I hold his word to high esteem. I trust that you will live up to every aspect of the job, lest you disappoint him. Disappointing him would be disappointing me and that is something that you do not want to do,” he states in a calm yet stern voice.

I gulp. “Yes, sir.”

“Now that we are on the same page, we can proceed. I’d like for you to leave your portfolio with me. I want to look it over. You’ll find in this folder a list of assignments that I’d like you to start working on. I’m going to feature you as a weekly addition to our editorials page. Deadline is every Friday at 1 p.m. Any questions?”

I shake my head as I reach for the folder he is offering me.

“Good. I suggest you start looking at those pieces. You have a week,” he says, opening up his laptop and making it clear that the meeting is over.

I finally exhale as I exit the building. Crane is intimidating, but I feel oddly exhilarated. This is finally my chance to prove myself as a journalist and I am excited. I can’t help the giddy giggles that bubble up and escape from my throat. I shove the folder into my messenger bag and reach into the front pocket for my cell phone. I have a date tonight.

*

Peeta told me to dress casually and wear comfortable shoes, so I settle on a pair of skinny jeans, a plaid button up and my old Chucks, with my hair in my preferred braid. I’m afraid that I’m underdressed, but Peeta’s appreciative smirk tells me otherwise.

“What’s that look for?” I ask defensively as he drinks me in, head to toe. I shiver as his gaze slides up my body, finally settling on my eyes.

“Oh, nothing. Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the door.

His car is parked at the curb and he doesn’t waste any time opening the door for me and rushing me into the seat. He jogs around the back of the car and practically dives into the driver's seat. His enthusiasm is contagious and, for the second time today, I start to feel a little giddy. 

Peeta expertly maneuvers the car through the Philadelphia traffic and gets on the ramp for I-76 west.

“Whoa, Mellark. I’m a city girl. I don’t like 76, I have no reason to ever be on 76, and I don’t want to go anywhere that 76 is going to take me,” I say, leaning forward and putting my palms flat on the dashboard, as if I could stop the car with my bare hands.

“Calm down, Katniss. You’re going to like it, I swear.”

I spend the rest of the drive jiggling my foot and biting my cuticles as Peeta takes me out of the city I so rarely leave. Driving outside of Philadelphia is almost physically painful for me; I never realized how attached I was. I know that it’s ridiculous, but ever since Prim and I moved to the city, after the accident and my mom’s breakdown, it’s been hard for me to leave. It’s like Philadelphia wrapped me in it’s arms and made me feel safe.

“Will you stop with the nervous twitches, woman? We’re only going to Chestnut Hill, still technically within the city limits,” Peeta reassures me.

“Doesn’t count,” I grumble, but the weight on my chest is a little lighter and the corners of my lips tug up involuntarily.

“Ha! There it is!” Peeta laughs as he reaches over and starts tickling my ribs until I’m consumed with laughter.

“Alright, enough! Take me to Chestnut Hill!” I gasp.

Finally, Peeta parks the car and looks at me excitedly. I glance at the sign in front of the building.

“Morris Arboretum? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Oh, it’s great. It’s run by UPenn and serves as a research center for the horticultural department. They do all kinds of great outdoor exhibits for every season. The Christmas exhibit is amazing, my dad used to bring us here every year. But spring is really the best time to visit,” Peeta chatters and I can see the boyish excitement in his flushed cheeks and   
sparkling eyes. “Come on!”

His excitement is infectious as we walk towards the entrance and I find myself craning my neck to take in every aspect of the place, even though we haven’t even walked through the front doors.

“Two for the Tree Adventure, please,” Peeta says when we get to the front of the line. Our hands are stamped and we are ushered towards the wooded area of the grounds.

Peeta takes my hand and leads me down the trail. We are surrounded by trees on every side and following a dirt trail. It’s mid-afternoon on a Friday, so we’re alone. We walk a little in silence before coming upon the biggest tree house I have ever seen in my life. I let out an audible gasp.

“I remembered that the night we went out drinking you mentioned how much you missed trees. I figured it would be nice for you to visit the forest,” Peeta says, head bowed. He looks at me through his thick eyelashes, almost bashfully, as if he’s not sure how I’m going to react.

I wrap my arms around his neck and he seems to breathe easier. “It’s perfect,” I whisper.

He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me even closer to him. I feel his warm palm on the small of my back and my breath catches as it starts to rub in small circles. His head dips down and his lips brush mine, so softly and sweetly. I sigh as he applies more pressure. After what seems like a split second, he breaks away and heads toward the exhibit. I’m left standing on the trail, breathless.

I get my bearings and follow behind him, having a hard time focusing on anything but the way his ass looks in those jeans. He stops at the bottom of the staircase and ushers me in front of him. We climb together and end up in a maze through the tree tops. 

Peeta and I stroll casually through the tree tops, hand in hand. After a bit, he pulls me closer and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I settle my hand on his hip and I can’t help but notice the muscles under the thin fabric of his shirt. I want to be more guarded, but something about him makes it impossible.

“So, Peeta Mellark, I told you about me on our last date. I want to know all about you now,” I finally break the silence. I can feel him tense in my grasp.

“What do you want to know?” he asks, and I can hear the slight edge in his voice.

“Everything. Tell me about your family, your childhood.”

“There’s not much to tell. I’m the youngest son of a senator. My oldest brother is being groomed to follow in his footsteps, my middle brother has washed his hands of the whole family and I’m my mother’s plaything. She sets me up on dates with models and heiresses to bring more publicity to the family. I’ve never really been able to make my own choices. That’s why I wanted to open Sage. Because it was something that my mother couldn’t mess with,” he says almost bitterly.

“Oh, Peeta, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“Don’t be sorry. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. The funny thing is, before my dad went into politics, we were just this normal family. My mom was a little harsh sometimes, but we had traditions and we were close. And then he got elected and it was the end of it. We weren’t Candy Mellark’s sons anymore, we were her publicity stunts. I guess that’s why Rusk left. Bri, on the other hand, was born to take over from the infamous Hansen Mellark. I was the unplanned child, so my mom decided to use me to her advantage,” he says.

I want to wrap him in my arms and kiss away the pain that I hear in his voice. I feel like the world’s biggest asshole for believing all of the gossip I had heard about him.

“Peeta,” I start, but he spins me around and puts his finger to my lips.

“Stop. This isn’t about her, or my brothers, or my dad. This is just us. I want it to be just us,” he pleads. I nod.

We walk through the rest of the exhibit in silence, just holding onto each other. As we walk, I wonder what I've gotten myself into.

*

A few hours later, we are pulling up outside of my apartment building. I don’t want the afternoon to be over; I’m not ready to let him go. The fact that I feel this way scares me.

“Peeta, do you want to come up? It’s only 6, maybe we could have some dinner and watch a movie?”

He throws the car into park. “Thank God you asked, I didn’t want to just invite myself up,” he says with his trademark smirk.

We head up the six flights of steps to my apartment and my heart is pounding in my chest, not from physical exertion, but from the idea of having Peeta in my apartment again. I unlock the door and he brushes past me, heading towards the kitchen.

“Making yourself at home, Mellark?” I ask him from the doorway to the kitchen, my hands on my hips.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to cook,” he laughs. 

“Hey!” I chuck my keys at his head and he ducks just in time.

“Alright, killer, open us a bottle of wine.”

I busy myself with the bottle of cabernet while he moves expertly through my kitchen. I pour us both a glass and settle on the couch with my feet up. I go into HBO on demand and put on Bridesmaids, one of my favorite movies.

Peeta walks into the living room and hands me a plate. Grilled chicken sits on top of a bed fresh romaine lettuce with shaved parmesan and what looks like a homemade dressing.   
It smells heavenly.

“I had the ingredients for homemade Caesar dressing in my fridge?” I ask Peeta in disbelief.

“Well, everything but the anchovies. But it still tastes good, I swear,” he answers.

Peeta and I devour our salads, leaving our empty plates on the coffee table.

“You are so lucky you’re cute, Everdeen. Bridesmaids? Really?” He laughs, pulling me to his side so that I settle next to him with my head on his chest. He kicks off his shoes and props his feet on the table, his fingers trailing lazily up and down my side.

I shiver at the sensation. Suddenly, the only thing I want to do is feel his lips on mine again. I shift my body so I’m facing him and I reach up and pull him to face me. His unruly golden curls fall over his eyes and I gently brush them to the side. He looks into my eyes, blue on gray, and I can tell that he’s starting to get the hint. He tightens his grasp on my hip and brings his lips to mine.

For a moment I am lost in the sensation of his full lips on mine. All I can concentrate on is how soft they are, moving against my mouth. I tentatively open my mouth and lick his bottom lip, asking to be granted access. He parts his lips and our tongues tangle together.

Peeta pushes me back on the couch and rears over me, his body covering mine completely. My hands grasp the back of his shirt as he deepens the kiss. I could spend the rest of my life kissing this man and never get tired of it.

Peeta breaks our kiss and nuzzles his nose into my neck. My head is swimming as I gulp for air.

“Katniss, I don’t want to rush things. We got a little out of hand the other day, but I really want to do this the right way with you. I want to show you what you mean to me,” he whispers, his eyes boring into mine.

I nod and shift so that we are lying on the couch as we were before, my head on his chest. I understand and appreciate where he’s coming from. I feel the same way.

We doze off watching Bridesmaids and eventually find our way to my bed. We spend the night tangled around each other.

*

I wake up the next morning feeling more rested than I have in a long time. Peeta snores quietly next to me and, as much as I’d like to stay in bed, I know that I won’t be able to fall back to sleep. Before I get restless, I slip out of his embrace and head towards the kitchen.

I pour myself a glass of orange juice and settle on the couch. Since I didn’t do it yesterday, I pull Crane’s folder out of my bag and scan the assignments. They are mostly political, editorials on Mayor Nutter and the Philadelphia Police Department’s latest scandal. It excites me to write about something other than the latest cover band.

Until my eyes fall on assignment number four: “Exposé – Find and interview members of Sen. Hansen Mellark’s campaign. Take the stand that his policies are unfair and outdated. Write a column about why he should not be in office. Dig up any scandal you can.”

The name “Hansen Mellark” jumps off the page and slaps me in the face.

Shit.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to saferealalways for keeping me in line. You are amazing. Thank you to Falafel for your unwavering support, amazing insight and sarcastic comments. You're both amazing friends. As always, the characters belong to Suzanne Collins - it's her world, I'm just living in it.

I sit still on the couch, motionless, until I hear Peeta padding down the hallway. I quickly shut the folder and shove it under some other papers on the coffee table. I don’t want to deal with this right now. I’ll have to figure something out eventually, but it doesn’t have to be now. And Peeta definitely doesn’t need to know about it, at least not yet. Not when things are actually starting to go somewhere with us.

He stretches out on the couch and puts his head in my lap. My fingers automatically weave their way into his thick, curly hair.

“Mmm,” a thick groan rumbles out of his throat as I work through his tangled tresses. “That feels good.” His eyes flutter shut as I continue my ministrations, but it’s really just a mindless action to keep my hands busy as my mind reels.

I squash my thoughts as Peeta flips onto his side and presses his face into my stomach. His arms snake around my waist and his nose pushes up my tank top so he can kiss my lower belly.

“Watch the stubble, Mellark!”

“What, you don’t like it?” he asks, a faux-innocent tone in his voice, before he starts nuzzling his face into the soft, sensitive skin of my stomach. I squirm and try to push him away, but he sits up and pulls me onto his lap, continuing his nuzzling - this time in the crook of my neck.

I sigh into his sweet-smelling hair as my arms act of their own accord and wrap themselves around his neck. His head stills on my shoulder as he looks up at me. My eyes meet his and I feel the warmth starting in my chest, spreading into my belly and through my limbs. I lean forward and press my lips to his. This kiss is different than the ones that we’ve shared up until now. There’s no fiery heat to it, no impatience. It’s just a comfortable peck; two people relaxing into each other. It’s with this kiss that I know I don’t stand a chance.

Peeta lets out a contented sigh before breaking the kiss. He shifts me off of his lap and heads toward the kitchen. 

I follow, perching myself on the counter as Peeta rifles through my fridge.

“How does French toast sound, babe?” he asks me.

I quirk my eyebrow at the endearment, feigning annoyance, but deep down I love it. If any other man had called me “babe” I would have firmly put them in their place, but with Peeta it seems normal, somehow.

“French toast sounds delicious, moonbeam honeychild sunshine-of-my-love,” I say to him, wiggling my eyebrows.

“Alright, smartass,” he says, pulling out the carton of eggs and bumping my leg with his hip as he passes me. 

I hop down to find space on the counter closer to where he’s working.

“I thought you like the ridiculous pet names, babe.” I pinch his butt as I walk past him.

“Oh, stop. I didn’t ask you to marry me. I simply used a term of endearment, babe.”

“A chauvinistic term of endearment. I’m not a pig in the city.”

Peeta turns to me with a huff. “Are you kidding me?”

I smirk at him. “I don’t kid.”

Something about the way that he moves around the kitchen - such confidence and ease - leaves me sitting on the counter uncomfortably, heat pooling between my legs. It gets to be too much, so I jump down and walk behind him, pressing myself flush against his back and winding my arms around his tapered waist.  
Peeta stills, dropping his whisk. “Oh, hello there.”

I press my lips to his back and murmur, “Hello.”

In one fluid movement, Peeta moves the makings of the French toast to the side and flips me around, lifting me by my thighs and sitting me, once again, on the counter. His face is so close that our noses are almost touching, but he doesn’t make any further movement. I’m the first to break, tilting my head up slightly so that my lips are pressed to his.  
I initiate the kiss, but he deepens it. His lips part against mine and I open up to him. As soon as he is granted access he wastes no time employing his tongue. We are lost in a flurry of teeth and tongues. 

I break the kiss, wanting to taste more than just his mouth. I want to taste him everywhere, all of him. I move to his jawline, nipping and kissing down to his neck. I drag the flat of my tongue along the cord of his neck, ending below his ear. Peeta gasps, using the counter to hold himself up. Sensing my opportunity, I jump down from the counter. I turn Peeta so that his ass is pressed to the edge of the counter that he is still using to hold himself up.

My hands find the hem of his shirt and I push it up. Slowly, almost as if he is in a daze, Peeta pulls the shirt over his head, revealing an expanse of lean muscle covering his chest and stomach. Blonde curls pepper the V of his chest and his stomach is smooth aside from the darker blonde curls trailing from his belly button and disappearing into the top of his boxers.

Peeta unexpectedly spending the night last night leaves him wearing only his boxers and I find myself smiling inwardly at my good fortune. The thin fabric shows everything, and I can see how I’m affecting him right now. I glance down at the swell of his semi-hard cock underneath the patterned fabric, and the sight of him causes me to ache in a way that I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

I push that to the side, though. I want to focus only on Peeta, the way that he focused only on me just last week. I run my nails down his chest lightly, continuing my ministrations on his neck. I feel his breathing quicken, his chest rising and falling underneath my hands.

I want to get my point across, but I’m not the most experienced when it comes to situations like this. I don’t know how to seduce a man, let alone a man like Peeta, so I set all formalities aside and drop to my knees, making my intentions clear.

Peeta grabs my wrists as I reach for the waistband of his underwear.

“Uh, Katniss, what are you doing?” he sputters.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m on my knees in front of you; I’m not praying,” I answer, a little wounded.

“This isn’t just going to be another fuck. I want it to be more than that with you, I told you already,” he says. I’m still on my knees and my cheeks are starting to burn.

He sees my blush and reaches down to lift me off the tile floor. I’m embarrassed and he knows it. I’m left completely speechless, so I do the only thing I know how to do. I run.

I stalk out of the kitchen and into my bedroom, shutting the door swiftly and firmly behind me. I sit in the middle of my bed and concentrate on keeping the hot, stinging tears behind my eyelids and not on my cheeks. After a few minutes that seem like hours, I hear a soft tap on the door.

“Can I come in?” Peeta calls out softly.

I don’t answer, so after a few seconds I see the doorknob twist and Peeta slowly opens the door. I keep my head low; I can’t even imagine making eye contact with him right now. I feel like an absolute fool. A rejected fool. This is why I don’t fall in love, because it hurts too damn much.

“Hey,” Peeta says, perching himself on the edge of my bed. “What’s going on?” I just shrug my shoulders, shifting further from him.

He follows me across the bed and catches my chin in his hand. I look at anything but his eyes.

“Katniss, please look at me. Please?” I hear the distress in his voice so I reluctantly lock my gray eyes onto his blue ones. I see the pain in them, pain at the idea of hurting me. I relax a little in his grip. All I needed was to look into his eyes.

“What are you feeling?” he asks.

“I feel really rejected, Peeta. I’m remembering why I don’t let myself get close to people,” I answer him.

Peeta lets go of my face, instead lying down on the bed and pulling me with him. I settle my head in the crook of his arm, my cheek resting on his chest.

“Katniss, I want you so badly. I’ve wanted you since you walked into Sage. I wanted to take you into my office and fuck you until you couldn’t stand. But then, you sat down and started talking and I was absolutely captivated. I realized that I could listen to you talk forever and never get tired of the sound of your voice. I have never, ever felt that way about anyone before. I don’t know how to do meaningful, but I want to figure it out with you. Please, give me some time, give us some time.”  
I can’t help but melt a little at his words. I’ve never had a truly meaningful relationship either, but something about his tone makes me feel like it’s a possibility with him.

“Okay.”

His grin is wide and all-consuming. He catches my chin again and lifts my face, leaving a lingering kiss on my lips.

“I have to get dressed. I’m supposed to meet Gale for lunch. Come with me, I want you to meet him.”

“Sure, but I’m going to go home first to shower and change. God, I can’t believe I’m doing a walk of shame.” He winks at me while pulling on last night’s jeans.

“Oh shut up, like anyone’s going to know. Meet us at Johnny Brenda’s at one,” I tell him.

He shrugs on his shirt and leans over the bed to give me a quick kiss before sauntering out of the bedroom.

“Bye, babe!” he calls from the front door.

As I rush around getting ready for lunch, the corner of my assignment folder sticking out from all of the clutter on the coffee table catches my eye. I grab the folder and shove it back into my bag. I’m not ready yet.

 

*

 

‘Running a little late, I’ll be there in 20.’

I slip my phone back into my pocket after reading Peeta’s text message.

“He’ll be here in 20 minutes, he got held up,” I tell Gale.

“Well don’t you think that’s a little rude? I don’t know why you even invited him, Katniss,” Gale huffs.

“What the hell is your problem? You have been such an asshole about this whole situation.” I narrow my eyes at my best friend.

“I’m just trying to protect you, you know. You could be a little bit more grateful.”

“Grateful? You want me to be grateful that you’re acting like a jealous, spoiled brat? If you’re going to act like a douche, you can just go, Gale, because you are not going to fucking ruin this for me. Do you understand?” If looks could kill, this guy would be dead.

“Fine, I’ll be nice. Or try at least. Look, I’m just on edge because Madge broke up with me last week,” Gale sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“God, Gale. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m really sorry. Are you ok?” I ask him. 

“It’s alright. I’ve been expecting it really. I wasn’t ready to commit to her,” he says.

I reach over the table to hold Gale’s hand. At that exact moment, Peeta rushes over to the table and I jump up, leaving Gale’s hand to close around empty space. I don’t miss the glare he shoots in Peeta’s direction.

“I’m really sorry, guys. I got stuck in traffic. You must be Gale, I’m Peeta,” he says, offering Gale his hand. Gale ignores it and remains in his seat.

“Well, ok then. I’ll just sit here, I guess,” Peeta looks a little wounded as he drops down into the seat next to me. I’m shooting daggers at Gale with my eyes. 

“So, Katniss tells me that you guys grew up together. You have got to tell me some embarrassing stories, man,” Peeta laughs, trying hard to break the ice.

“Oh, I’ll tell you some stories. Like how I was her first kiss. And her prom date. I could tell you some other things too, Peeta,” Gale says coolly, quirking one eyebrow up, his eyes boring into mine the entire time he speaks.

“That’s enough, Gale!” I throw my napkin onto the table. “Let’s go, Peeta.”

“He’s not right for you, Katniss.” Gale slams his fist onto the table, causing the glasses to rattle.

“How do you know who’s right for me, Gale Hawthorne? Where do you get your balls?” I hiss.

“Because I’m right the one that’s right for you, Katniss. It’s always been you and me; we are supposed to be together. Why do you think I’m not upset about Madge dumping me? Because I finally saw the opportunity to take the chance I should have taken years ago.”

Peeta sits, eyes wide, looking back and forth between the two of us.

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said, Gale. Fuck you. How dare you?” I spit at him.

“Katniss, look. You and I both know that it’s supposed to be us. You know our fathers would have wanted it,” Gale says. Years of close friendship has left him knowing exactly what to say to push my buttons.

My stomach drops at the mention of my father. Gale knows exactly what he’s doing; he knows just how to get to me. I don’t appreciate it one bit. Anger clouds my vision as I walk out of the restaurant without another word to Gale. I just need to get away.

I’ve been walking down the street for at least five minutes when I hear the pounding footsteps behind me. Peeta grabs my arm, out of breath.

“Katniss, are you alright?” He asks.

“Peeta, I’m really sorry about him. I don’t know where the hell this is coming from. He’s not normally like this.”

“Don’t worry about it, I understand. Let’s go to my place, its closer,” Peeta says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me tight to his side. I visibly relax as I mold my body to his. I’m still furious and hurt, but it’s nice to have someone to lean on for once. Usually, it’s everyone else leaning on me.

“What about your car?” I ask him.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it later.” He responds.

We walk in silence for a few minutes, holding onto each other. 

“Wait a second, Peeta. You didn’t follow me right away. What did you say to him?,”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” He winks and drops a kiss onto my forehead.

 

*

 

An hour later, I can’t seem to shake Gale’s words. In fact, I’m getting more and more worked up as time passes. Peeta has been so patient, just sitting with me on the couch, not pushing me to talk. I know that if I do talk to him, I’m going to lose it. But, despite this fact, I have an overwhelming urge to tell Peeta everything.

“Peeta, remember when we were at the Waterworks and I told you a little bit about my family?” I ask him. He nods.

“Well I kind of skimmed over the details. What Gale said today, about my father, it really hurt me. It hurt because our families were always close. Our parents were best friends and we grew up together. Our dads worked together and my mom was the midwife when his little sister was born. And it always was supposed to be me and Gale.” Peeta winces at the last sentence, but I continue. “They used to joke all the time about how Gale and I would grow up and get married and then we really would be one big happy family.

But, then our dads were killed. When I said that my mom checked out – that was an understatement. It was like she was in a coma but she was still conscious. She wouldn’t speak or eat; all she would do was sit in her rocking chair by the front window, like she was waiting for Dad to come home. But he never did. The last thing that I wanted was for Prim and I to be taken away, so I tried to do whatever I could to keep us afloat. But it was really hard, I was floundering. Then Gale stepped in. He taught me how to hunt and he took care of us. So for him to try and use that to manipulate me, it cuts really deep.”

I don’t realize it while I’m talking, but the tears are streaming down my face now. Peeta just puts his arms around me and I push my face into his chest and sob, drenching his shirt. I haven’t cried like this for years, but it feels surprisingly good. With every wave, it feels like the weight is slowly being lifted off of my shoulders. All of the weight that I have been carrying for all of these years, all of the responsibility thrust onto me at such a young age, is being slowly removed.

I don’t know how long we sit there, but my legs start to cramp and I’m sure Peeta’s arms have fallen asleep. He shifts so that I’m leaning against the back of the couch instead of him and I only open my eyes when I feel the coldness that tells me he’s not on the couch any more. I see him disappear into the kitchen.

He’s back in a minute holding a steaming bowl and he perches on the coffee table, setting the bowl down next to him. I feel his fingers caress my chin and I look up at him. He is holding a spoon to my mouth and I take a tentative sip. Chicken broth, vegetables and rice fill my mouth. I swallow and the warmth travels into my stomach, settling comfortable. 

Peeta feeds me spoonful after spoonful, the soup acting as a balm to ease my tension. When the bowl is empty he sets it aside and gets on his knees in front of me, taking my face into his hands.

“I’ll take care of you now, Katniss. Please, let me take care of you,” he whispers.

I just look into his eyes and nod.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> saferealalways, you keep my butt in line and I don't know what I would do without you. Falafel, you are the Briere to my Giroux, thank you for all of your input and guidance. I love you both something fierce. All credit to SC for creating such flawless characters. Everything belongs to her.

After our breakthrough, we settle into a semi-comfortable routine. Peeta and I take turns spending the night at each other’s houses; he usually cooks and I bring the wine. On nights when he is at the restaurant late, I stay at his apartment. Just the smell of him helps me sleep. Tonight is one of those nights.

I linger over some Chinese takeout as I watch the news, settled comfortably in the middle of Peeta’s couch. He had texted me earlier in the day, telling me that his head chef had called out and he was filling in, so on my way home from work I stopped at Sage and grabbed his key. He keeps telling me to just make myself one, but I don’t know if I’m there yet. It’s only been about a month since the fight with Gale and I don’t want to push it.

My cell phone buzzes on the coffee table and I answer it without looking, expecting it to be Peeta. “Hey, hottie.”

“Ew, Katniss. You’re a freak,” my sister responds.

“Oops, sorry Prim. I thought you were Peeta,” I say quickly.

“Oh shit! You’re using cheesy pet names? No way!” she squeals.

“Prim! Shut up! What do you want?” I ask.

“Well number one is to find out what’s going on with you and Mr. Hottie.” I can just picture her, wagging her eyebrows suggestively.

“Well, I’m at his place right now…” I inform her.

“Without him? Did you guys bone? You totally boned,” she needles.

“Prim, oh my god. We did not ‘bone.’ But we do spend almost every night together. We’re waiting until it’s meaningful.”

“I just puked in my mouth. But seriously, that’s so cute and exactly what you need. I’m really happy for you, Katniss.” Her voice takes on a more serious note.

“Thank you. I’m happy for me, too. Now what else did you want?” I laugh.

“Well, I’m only asking this because I’m your favorite sister and you love me so much,” she begins.

“I’m your only sister, but go on,” I say, suspiciously.

“I know things have been rough with you and Gale…”

“They aren’t rough. I’m not speaking to him because he’s an asshole and he made our whole friendship awkward.” I’m starting to get annoyed with where this conversation is heading.

“Regardless, I really need you to come to dinner with the Hawthornes tomorrow,” she says hesitantly.

“No. No way, Primrose. I do not want to be in the same room as Gale Hawthorne.”

“Katniss, you know I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t really important. Rory and I have some news and you need to be there. They need to be there, too. Please, do this for me,” she pleads.

I shift forward on the couch, resting my elbows on my knees and try to rub away some of my building headache with my free hand. I know that I have to go; I have to be there for my little sister. Just like I always have. I would do anything for Prim, including being in the same room as Gale fucking Hawthorne.

“Fine, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t judo chop him,” I sigh.

“I don’t care, just wait until after our news,” Prim giggles.

We talk for a little longer about mundane things. After we hang up, I refresh my wine and sink into Peeta’s plush sofa. I grab the remote and flip through the channels, my takeout sitting forgotten on the coffee table. I’m trying not to think about dinner tomorrow. After a while, I hear Peeta’s key in the lock and I sit up, all thoughts of Gale flying out of my head.

“What are you still doing awake?” he asks, concern flooding his voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m ok. Just wanted to wait up for you, I missed you,” I smile at him.

“I missed you too, baby.” He walks towards the couch, toeing off his shoes and dumping his jacket on the floor. I shift so that there’s room for him and he sits down, pulling me into his lap.

“You sure everything’s ok? You’re normally snoring when I get in after a late shift,” he teases.

“Shut up, I do not snore!” I laugh.

“Babe, you are a lumberjack,” he says, ducking my halfhearted swat at his head. 

“Everything’s fine. I think. I just talked to Prim and she wants me to go to dinner with her and the Hawthornes tomorrow. All of them,” I explain.

“Ah. Well, do you want me to go with you? Moral support and all that,” Peeta offers. I can tell by his eyes that he’s skeptical. I can’t blame him.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to create an even more awkward situation. And then there’s the fact that it’s totally unfair to you. I just don’t want to have to deal with him,” I tell him.

“Well how about this: I’ll stay here and you can come over afterwards. And if you need a quick getaway, you just call me and I’ll be on standby,” he offers.

“That sounds perfect. Thank you so much,” I sigh in relief.

He tucks a few strands of my hair that have escaped my braid behind my ear and drops a kiss onto my hairline.

“Anything for you, babe. I’m taking care of you, remember?”

And with that, he picks me up throws me over his shoulder and gives me a firm smack on the ass.

“Now come on, let’s go to bed.”

*

The next morning Peeta and I linger in bed as long as possible. His late shift means that he put Delly in charge for the morning and I’m ahead on my assignment load, so I can take a morning off. We lay under his thick down comforter for hours, my head on his chest or his length pressed against my back, laughing and talking while mindless daytime television drones in the background.

“I have to take a shower,” I declare sometime between reruns of Maury and Jerry Springer.

“Shower here, I’m not ready for you to leave,” Peeta tells me. “Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll join you.” He winks, exaggerated and cheesy.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mellark,” I call over my shoulder, already on the way to his bathroom.

I take a towel out of the linen closet in the hallway and head into the bathroom. Peeta’s bathroom is bigger than mine, with a Jacuzzi tub and a stand up shower. I blush a bit as I think about how much fun we could have in the Jacuzzi.

I shake the thoughts out of my head and turn the water on before undressing and stepping under the steamy spray. The glass doors fog up as I close my eyes and lean against the wall, my shoulders relaxing.

A sound outside of the stall makes me jump and I crack the door, poking my head out. Peeta stands with a towel around his waist and sly grin plastered on his face.

“What are you doing, crazy?” I sputter. “You almost gave me a heart attack.

“You told me not to make promises I couldn’t keep,” he retorts, dropping his towel and pushing me back gently and stepping into the shower. I would worry about covering myself up if I could tear my eyes away from his body.

I’ve seen him shirtless, but this is different somehow. I was too nervous before to notice how broad his shoulders were or how the fine blonde hairs that smatter across his chest extend in a line straight down his stomach. Straight down to, ahem, him. And there’s a lot of him. I blush deeply, and even the heat from the shower can’t cover it up.

After a second, I regain my wits and move to cover up my small breasts and the now pulsing vee between my thighs, but Peeta grabs my wrists, pulling them up around his neck so that our fronts are entirely pressed together.

“Don’t cover yourself up. I want to enjoy the view. And what a breathtaking view it is,” he smirks.

“I thought you didn’t want to have sex until it was meaningful, Peeta,” I practically choke out.

“I never promised sex, I just promised that I would join you. You questioned my integrity so, naturally, I had to prove you wrong. Now move over, you’re hogging all of the water,” he says, swinging me around so that he’s under the spray, his body blocking me from any water.

“You are a cruel man, Peeta Mellark.” I try to give him my best mean stare, but I end up cracking up halfway through. Only Peeta could know exactly what to say to make a situation like this absolutely perfect.

“If you’re really nice, I’ll let you wash my back,” he winks at me.

“Oh, the honor. I don’t know if I can handle it,” I snort.

“Come on now, we both have to go to work. Hustle!” he barks, snapping the washcloth across my ass. I yelp and squirt shampoo at him. 

I never would have thought that a shower with Peeta Mellark would actually leave me cleaner than I was before.

*

A few hours later, all of the tension that Peeta’s presence had eased from my shoulders has returned threefold. I’m standing outside of The Pickled Heron on Frankford Avenue, wondering just how pissed Prim would be if I didn’t show up. Before I can lose what little nerve I have, I take a deep breath and force myself to walk through the door.

“Welcome to The Pickled Heron,” the sullen hostess greets me.

“I’m meeting some people. Actually a party, I guess. It’s probably under the name ‘Hawthorne,’” I tell her.

“You’re in the private room. Through that doorway and to the left,” she points over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” I smile tersely and make my way in the direction she is pointing. I take a deep breath and walk into the room.

The Hawthornes are milling about, socializing. Hazelle chats with Prim, while Gale, Vick, and Rory are huddled in the corner, slapping each other’s backs and fist bumping. Little Posy, who isn’t so little anymore, sits in the corner, her eyes glued to her cell phone. I recognize a couple of Prim’s friends from med school, although I can only name Rue. She’s the first one to spot me, awkwardly standing in the doorway, wringing my hands.

“Hey, it’s Katniss!” she exclaims.

Prim’s head whips in my direction. “Katniss!” she squeals, picking her way across the room to give me a hug. Everyone lines up behind her to greet me; everyone except Gale.

“Ok everyone. Katniss was the last one to get here, so let’s sit down. They’re going to start serving us,” announces Hazelle, ever the matriarch.

We sit down – I’m wedged between Vick and Rue – and the courses begin. I pick at my food, unable to focus. Every so often Gale’s eyes meet mine from across the table.  
I pick my way through three courses when Prim taps her spoon against her water glass.

“Ok, so you’re probably all wondering why Rory and I asked you to be here today,” she begins.

“We’re getting married!” Rory blurts, as if it’s some great secret that he can’t hold in any longer, before grabbing my sister and planting a long, loud kiss right on her lips.

My breath catches in my throat and I stagger to my feet, lunging for my baby sister and wrapping her up in my arms.

“I’m so happy for you, Primmy. You’re just a baby, but I’m so happy for you. I love you,” I whisper in her ear.

“Katniss, I’m not a baby. I’m twenty-three. But thank you, anyway. Aren’t you glad you didn’t skip it?” she giggles.

“I am so glad.”

“Will you be my maid of honor?” she asks.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I respond, tears in my eyes.

*

I text Peeta on my way home – “On my way. If you even like me a little bit you will have a glass of wine waiting for me.’

I get no response, so I assume that he’s complying. He had better be complying.

I make my way through the streets to Peeta’s building. I punch in the code and hop on the (functional, thankfully) elevator.  
Peeta is waiting at the door with a bottle of wine.

“No glass?” I raise my eyebrow.

“Didn’t think you’d want to waste time on the formalities,” he responds.

“Right answer,” I tell him.

“Was it that bad?” he asks.

“Not bad, no. Gale kept his distance, thankfully. But Prim and Rory are engaged.”

“That’s great news. What’s the problem?” 

“There isn’t a problem, really. It’s just that she’s only twenty three and she’s my baby sister. I’m feeling protective,” I explain.

“Ahh. Protective older sister syndrome. The cure for that is lots of wine and boyfriend snuggling.”

Boyfriend. We haven’t defined our relationship yet and I certainly haven’t referred to him as my boyfriend. I don’t hate it.

“Boyfriend, huh? What makes you so ballsy, Mellark?” I raise my eyebrow at him.

“Oh, you love it, tough girl,” he says, nuzzling my neck.

“Yeah, I do. Sue me,” I respond.

“I’m going to get changed for bed. Join me?” he asks.

“I need to check my email really quick because I didn’t spend a lot of time at work today. Give me five minutes,” I tell him.

“Fair enough. I’ll be waiting for you, sexy mama,” he wiggles his eyebrows at me. I just roll my eyes.

After he disappears into the bedroom, I crack open his laptop and pull up the browser. I type in my password and scan through my inbox. Junk, junk, PR reps, an interview confirmation, and a message from Seneca Crane.

“Miss Everdeen, I’m very pleased with the work that you have submitted thus far. I feel as though you are going to be a good fit in our little Inquirer family. I will, however, reserve my judgment until I receive your biggest piece – the expose on Senator Mellark. I understand that it is a significant piece and want to allow you sufficient time to compose quality work. I expect it on my desk in one month. Sincerely, Seneca Crane, Politics Editor, The Philadelphia Inquirer” 

I close Peeta’s laptop with a bang and kick off my shoes as I head to his bedroom.

*

When I finally get into the bedroom, Peeta is lounging over the covers, flicking through the TV stations. I walk over to his dresser, open up “my” drawer and pull out an off the shoulder t-shirt to sleep in. I strip off my jeans and sweater and shrug into the tee.

Peeta pulls me to him when I climb onto the bed, nestling me against the pillows and settling himself on top of me, between my legs. As usual, my panties grow damp at his slightest touch.

“Everything ok?” Peeta asks, his eyes boring into mine.

“Fine,” I respond with the slightest jerk of my hips. He rocks forward and I can feel him harden against my center.

“I don’t want fine, I want great,” he says, leaning in for a kiss.

“You keep kissing me and I will definitely by great,” I tell him, right before he deepens the kiss. I open my mouth to him, our tongues swirling together, teeth nipping at lips.

Before long, we are bucking against each other, both of us panting.

“Peeta, are you sure?”

He doesn’t respond. His fingers dip below the hem of my panties, teasing my folds until I’m impossibly wet. I gasp as he slips a finger inside of me, his thumb expertly finding my clit. My hips buck into his hand.

He adds another finger and my breath catches. His eyes catch mine and hold them as he move two, then three, fingers in and out, catching my clit on each upstroke. My hips meet his every thrust and I reach down to pull my shirt over my head, grateful that I had thought to take off my bra beforehand.

As soon as my breasts are free, Peeta leans his head down to catch a nipple in his mouth, a somewhat familiar and incredibly exhilarating sensation.

“Please, Peeta, more,” I beg.

“I love it when you say my name like that,” he responds, pumping his hand even faster. He props himself above me on one elbow, his other hand working my sex like he was born to do it.

Peeta works his hand like nothing I’ve ever felt before, his fingers working together to stimulate every last inch of me. His teeth, tongue, and lips focus on my breasts to the point that I can barely stand the sensation. I feel myself working up to my breaking point, colors beginning to burst behind my eyelids.

“Peeta, I’m gonna, I’m going to… I’m there. I have to come,” I stutter.

“Come, baby. Let me feel it, please,” he responds. At his words I feel my core unravel, my hips buck uncontrollably and my whole body shivers beneath his touch. I feel myself clench around his fingers and he lets out a gravelly moan.

After my body stops shivering, he pulls his fingers into his mouth, sucking in the taste of me. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and if I had any doubts about taking Peeta into my hands, they were absolutely gone at this point.

I reach into his boxers and pull his already rigid cock up and over the waistband. He lands with a thump on my stomach and I reach down into my folds, soaking up all of the moisture that I have left. When my hands are slick, I bring them to Peeta’s thick length and run my fingers up and down. A few quick strokes over his head to collect his pre-cum gives me enough lubricant to work him, up and down, back and forth. He shudders above me, every inch of him quaking as I tighten my grip on his length.

It only takes a few minutes, but eventually he is rocking into my hand, my free hand kneading his balls. His rhythm grows sporadic and I know that he is close.

“Baby, I’m about to… where can I?” he tries to make out.

“Just come, babe. Come for me,” I tell him.

He jerks a little more quickly in my grasp, but after a few minutes his milky hot cum spurts across my stomach and chest. He collapses into my side, automatically reaching to the bedside table to grab tissues for me to clean up with. When I am wiped clean, he rolls his body halfway over mine, his arms circling me and his legs twining with mine.

“Katniss, did you feel that? That’s what I was talking about when I said that it should mean something between us. We didn’t even have sex and that was so amazing, because I care about you so much. I really do, baby, I care about you,” he rambles tiredly.

“I know, baby. I care about you too. So much,” I respond. After a few minutes I feel his head lull against my shoulder and the rest of his body go slack.

It means something, it really does. But Crane’s email keeps me awake when I should be sleeping like a baby, pressed up against Peeta.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry for the delay. I had some major issues writing this chapter, you'll see. Just remember that I love Everlark and I wouldn't throw anything that them that they weren't going to make it through :) Thank you so much to the amazing saferealalways for being an amazing beta and friend. Also, thank you to falafel_waffel for being the Briere to my Giroux, the love of my life, and the one that taught me all about messing with K&P. As always, credit goes entirely to SC. Hope you enjoy the chapter!!

I awake from a restless sleep, my limbs tangled with Peeta’s. I slept fitfully, images of Seneca Crane’s and Peeta’s faces flickering behind my eyelids every time I closed them. Peeta’s arms and legs are hot and heavy, pinning me to the mattress. I spend a minute untangling myself before I can slip out of his grasp and head into the bathroom.

It’s early, so early that it’s still dark outside, so I fumble my way through the hallway until I reach the bathroom door. When I’m finally in front of the sink, I turn on the tap and splash the ice cold water over my face. The shock from the water jolts me out of my stupor and I automatically switch into work mode. After my teeth are brushed and my hair is braided tightly, I bustle back into the bedroom to find Peeta lounging in bed.

“I hate it that you have to leave so early,” he yawns.

“I know, I do, too. But you’re place is further from work than mine so I have to leave earlier,” I answer. He just pouts.

“Put that lip away,” I tell him, leaning down to give him a quick kiss. He grabs me by my waist and pulls me down on top of him.

“Peeta!” I squeal, but his lips are roaming up my neck and I bite back my half-hearted protest. His hands skim down my sides and underneath my t-shirt, ghosting up and over my chest. He settles them on my breasts, his fingers beginning to work my nipples into hard peaks.

“I’m going to be late,” I murmur. He just gives me a wicked smile and flips me onto my back.

His hands leave my breasts and I let out a frustrated sigh at the loss of contact. I quickly change my tone, though, when his hands travel further south to play with the waistband of my boy shorts.

“Still worried about being late?” Peeta asks with a smirk. I respond by grabbing his head and pulling him in for a kiss.

The kiss starts out slow, soft and languid, but quickly becomes filled with fire. As our lips move together and our tongues wrestle for dominance, Peeta slips his hand into my panties and swiftly slips two fingers into me. My hips react of their own accord, bucking up to meet his hand. He pumps into me a few times, breaking our kiss and looking into my eyes, both of us panting heavily.

“So wet, so early,” he remarks, quirking up an eyebrow. Before I can even comprehend what is going on, Peeta pulls his hand out of my underwear and brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them greedily. A loud groan slips out of from my lips as he shifts himself further down on the bed, lifting my shirt and kissing his way down.

Once, he’s settled between my legs, he pulls the fabric of my panties to the side and lowers his mouth to me. I gasp as his mouth connects with my core. My gasps grow into a steady stream of moans as his teeth and tongue work in tandem, creating a blissful rhythm. He reaches up and slides his index finger into me and it takes all of three strokes before I come hard. Peeta’s mouth latches to my clit, riding out my orgasm. Once I’ve quieted, Peeta comes to lie next to me, cradling my head to his chest. 

It takes a few minutes to stop shaking and calm my breathing, but when I do, I gather myself together and slide down Peeta’s body, yanking his boxers down a little harder than I intended to. His erection springs free and he lets out a groan as I wrap my lips around his head. His hands fist in my hair, pulling it free of its braid, as I bob up and down, taking as much of him in my mouth as I can. I work at a steady pace, and after a few minutes he pulls my head back.

“I’m close,” he tells me. I answer him by going back to what I’m doing. After a few seconds, he shudders and his hips still. I drink in all of him, only releasing him when he goes limp.

“Shit, Katniss,” he groans. I crawl up his body and settle my head on his chest. We are sweaty and limp, spent and sated. I lie still for a moment, listening to his heartbeat, before I catch sight of his alarm clock on the night table. I am going to be very, very late.

“Damn it, I have to get going,” I sigh, peeling my skin from his and rolling off of the mussed bed.

“I should get up, too. I’ll be in meetings all day, I’m thinking about switching some vendors,” he tells me.

“So I guess a lunch date is out of the question?” I ask.

He frowns. “As much I would love to have you for lunch, I don’t think I’ll be able to sneak away. Speaking of sneaking, you better get your ass going so you can sneak into work without Haymitch noticing.” He leans over and kisses my forehead before grabbing my chin and softly kissing my lips.

“You are amazing, Katniss. You have no idea the affect you have on me. I think I’m falling for you,” he whispers against my lips, eyes closed.  
I’m shocked at the ease with which he says the words, but I’m even more shocked at how natural it feels to hear them. I nod and whisper back: “Me, too.”

 

*

 

My commute to work is uneventful, partly because my mind is still with Peeta. I can smell him - on my clothes, my skin – and every time I inhale my mind swims with images of him. Through my subway ride and the following walk I keep imagining him – lying on his bed, his hair tousled, or his chin resting on my lower belly, gazing up at me through his thick, blond eyelashes. It’s no wonder I’m losing myself in him;, he’s amazing.

I finally find myself sitting at my desk, although I only remember about half of my journey there. I set my bags down and begin to settle myself when a note on the top of my inbox catches my eye. Three words, written on a yellow Post-it in black Sharpie – “IN MY OFFICE.” No signature, which doesn’t surprise me. I immediately head over to Haymitch’s office.

“Look, I’m really sorry I was late this morning. I was coming from further farther away and I didn’t realize how much of a difference there was in the commute. It won’t happen again,” I begin when I open his door.

“That’s not why you’re in here, Sweetheart, although don’t think I didn’t notice,” he says, his voice gruff and his head bowed over paperwork. He looks up and flicks his cigarette into the already overflowing ashtray on his desk. “I want to know how your assignments at the Inquirer are coming. My reputation is on the line here, too.”

“Well, for the most part, they’re coming along well,” I tell him hesitantly.

“For the most part?” He quirks his eyebrow.

I’m skeptical about telling Haymitch about the expose on Senator Mellark. On one hand, I could definitely use some advice, and while he may be a stinking drunk, but Haymitch was is a damn good editor. He would normally have been the first person I sought out for advice. But, on the other hand, I didn’t want him to think that I couldn’t handle the job. I had complained to him for years about wanting to be taken seriously as a journalist. I didn’t want him to think I was drowning before I’d really even gotten in the water.

He clears his throat, a clear indicator that I had no choice but to tell him.

“Well, Seneca assigned me a list of pieces, and they’re mostly really great. But he also assigned me a really big expose about Senator Hansen Mellark,” I explain.

“I fail to see a problem, Sweetheart,” he grunts.

“Well, um.” I swallow. “His son is kind of my boyfriend.”

“You actually have a male interested in you? Congratulations, Sweetheart!” Haymitch chuckles.

I blush. “Thanks a lot. But that doesn’t answer my question. What should I do?”

“It’s a simple solution. Conflict of interest. You can’t ethically write a story like that about your boyfriend’s father. It would be biased, to say the least. Tell Crane, he won’t have another choice but to reassign the piece,” Haymitch says nonchalantly, as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world.

“I didn’t even think of that. That makes a lot of sense. Thanks, Haymitch!” I say with a broad smile.

“Calm down. If you had paid any attention in college you wouldn’t have had to ask me for advice.” He tries to sound stern but I see the smirk playing at his lips.

“I’m going to email him right now. Thanks, again,” I say, rising from my place in front of his desk and heading towards the door.

“Oh yeah, Sweetheart, let’s try to be on time from now on,” Haymitch adds as I’m turning the doorknob. I look back at him just in time to see him flash me a sarcastic thumbs up and wink.

I head back to my desk, my step noticeably lighter. I feel as though an incredible weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Suddenly, I can’t wait until later, , I have to hear Peeta’s voice right this minute.

I sit down and grab my phone out of the top drawer of my desk. I key in my passcode and notice the little red symbol next to the text message icon. I open it immediately, expecting it to be from Peeta or Prim, maybe even Jo. Pretty much anyone other than Gale, so my mouth drops when I see his name at the top of the message.

I skim the message – the novel, really – which is, to put it nicely, Gale groveling. I’ve never known him to beg for anything before, Gale is entirely too proud for that. But, here he is, begging me to go to lunch with him today so that we can work through this conflict. I’m still incredibly pissed at his behavior, but the fact that he has stooped to this has me second guessing myself. It takes a lot for Gale to put his tail between his legs. I type out a quick response telling him to meet me at a small place near my office for lunch. It’s a bit of a hike for him, but I can’t make it too easy.

After I see the message sent confirmation, I exit out of the screen and tap in Peeta’s number. The thought that I might be interrupting his meeting flits through my mind, but I’ve already heard two rings, so it’s too late to hang up at this point. He answers cheerfully.

“Hey, hot stuff. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just wanted to see what was up for tonight,” I answer him.

“Whatever you want to do. You could come to my place, I could come to yours. We could go out?” he suggests.

“Let’s go out. I want to celebrate,” I blurt.

“What are we celebrating?” he asks.

“We’re celebrating us. You and me, baby.” I giggle as the uncharacteristic sentence slips from my lips.

“Oh, yeah? Well that is definitely something to celebrate. Let me do some planning, we’re going to do something special tonight,” he tells me.

“Ok. I’m pretty sure that I have a nice outfit at your place so I’ll just come over after work,” I say.

“I’ll talk to you then, gorgeous. And, Katniss?”

“Yeah?”

“To continue what I told you this morning: I’m very sure that I’m falling in love with you” he whispers.

The giddiness that I am feeling over having worked out my dilemma helps me answer him with no hesitation. “I feel the same way, Peeta.”

 

*

 

Around noon, I head towards the café to meet Gale. I should be feeling dread, every rational fiber of my existence is screaming at me to run in the opposite direction. I hate it that I feel this way about someone that I know so well, someone that I consider to be my best friend. The fact of the matter is, after my dad died, Gale was the most important person in my life, behind only Prim. I just wish that he hadn’t opened up his big, fat mouth and ruined everything. But I keep going towards the café, because I need my best friend right now. I’m falling in love and I don’t want to fuck it up this time.

As soon as I walk in the door, I spot Gale sitting at a table tucked into the corner. He squirms when I catch his gaze, offering up a tight, nervous smile. I cross the room and sit down across from him.

“Oh, for chrissake’s, Hawthorne, I’m not going to bite you.” I can’t help but laugh a little at the pained expression on his face.

“I’m glad to hear it, although I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he says, and I can see the tension slip out of his shoulders. His eyes meet mine, gray on gray, and we can’t help but pass a smile between us. Before I know it, we’re both cracking up.

“What the hell, Gale? Damn you!” I gasp through my laughter. 

Gale wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes and tries to catch his breath. “I don’t know, Catnip. I wasn’t lying about anything I said, by the way. But having you so mad at me has made me realize that I love you too much to not have you in my life, even if it’s just as my best friend. But, trust me; I will go after Blondie if he hurts you.”

“Gale, you know me. I’ll do something to fuck it up eventually,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“You will not, you are awesome and if he doesn’t see that then it’s his loss. And I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.” He winks at me.

“You are such a creep! Shut up!” I laugh, throwing my napkin at him. But I quickly sober. “But really, I’m scared Gale. The feelings that I have for him, I just, I don’t know what to do. I can’t… I just can’t,” I stammer.

“Oh my God, you’re in love. Katniss Everdeen, you are in love with him.” Gale looks at me with a mixture of sadness and disbelief in his eyes. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I’m pretty sure I am, Gale, which means that I’m probably going to ruin it. I don’t know how to be in love,” I say.

“Catnip, you overthink things. You don’t need to know how to be in love, you just do it. You just jump in head first and hope that it works for the best. The only way you’re going to ruin it is if you let your head get in the way of your heart,” Gale says. There’s a sincere tone to his voice and it makes me realize that he really does love me and want the best for me. Even though I can’t love him in the way that he wants me to, I do love him and I know that he wouldn’t steer me wrong in a situation like this.

“I’m just scared. You know I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships.”

“Yea, I know. I still have the scar on my knuckles from punching Cato in the teeth. But it’s different this time. I can see it in your eyes. You need to just let it happen,” he tells me.

 

*

 

On my way back from lunch with Gale, I take a small detour to the Inquirer. I want to get this mess straightened up as soon as possible, and definitely before I see Peeta tonight.   
Seneca’s secretary, a bubbly platinum blonde wearing a shockingly pink pantsuit, ushers me through the door as soon as I tell her who I am. 

“Ms. Everdeen. To what do I owe this surprise visit?” asks Crane, peering over his glasses and stroking his perfectly manicured goatee.

“Mr. Crane, I’m really sorry to drop in on you like this. I was in the area and I wanted to discuss my stories with you.”

“Deadline is coming up, Katniss. I trust that you will not let me down.” He purses his lips.

“Oh no, I’ll have everything ready for you by deadline. Well everything except one story - the expose on Senator Mellark. See, I’ve realized that writing this story would compromise my ethics, because I’ve been dating his son for about a month now. I didn’t want to tell you before because I didn’t want to let you down, but now I realize that it would simply be unprofessional of me to proceed with this piece,” I tell him.

“Well, Katniss, this poses a problem. This was a very big piece and I was counting on it. I really wish that you had told me about this sooner, so that I could have assigned it to someone else. Now I’m going to have to push the story back and that leaves me in a bit of a jam,” Seneca sighs, pulling off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I really am sorry. I hope you won’t let this mistake taint your opinion of my work.” For the first time since my talk with Haymitch, I’m feeling a little uneasy. My heart pounds at the thought that this could ruin my chances of being taken seriously at a writer, but as soon as I think of Peeta, my anxiety is quelled. No matter the outcome, I know that I have made the right decision.

“You have come very highly recommended from a trusted colleague, so I’m going to reserve my judgment until I’ve seen the other assignments I’ve given you. And I want them all on my desk not a minute past deadline,” Seneca says tightly.

I let out the breath that I had been holding. Everything just might work out, for once.

“Thank you so much. Expect to see my stories by the end of the week. Thank you again,” I say, standing and reaching across his desk to shake his hand. He grasps my hand with hand and gives it one brisk, curt pump. I turn to leave.

“Oh, and Ms. Everdeen?” he calls. I turn to face him again. “Do not let something like this happen again. It’s one thing to turn down a story for ethical reasons, but if that should happen, I want to know about it right away,” he says, stressing the last two words. I nod.

“Yes, sir. Have a good day.”

 

*

 

I rush through the rest of my day, barely paying attention to anything. Annie has had to ask me three times what photos I think thought we should use for one of my pieces, and I listened to the same voicemail twice before I realized what I was doing. All I want is to get to Peeta. To get home. I can’t wait to tell him about all the thinking I’ve done today.

Finally, the last of my emails are sent and my interviews are set up for the next day. I grab my bag and rush out of the office, ignoring everyone and everything that comes into my path. I don’t even bother trying to walk or catch the subway, I don’t have the patience. I flag a cab down as soon as my feet hit the pavement.

I spend the cab ride over to Peeta’s apartment fidgeting;, half of it is impatience, half of it is nerves. My rational mind is telling me to relax, that we’ve already pretty much admitted our feelings clear to each other. But the irrational side of me, the so very Katniss side, is scared to death.

By the time we pull up to his building, I’ve worked myself up so much that I almost forget to pay the cabbie. Then I completely over tip him. But I don’t care, I’m already racing up the steps, forgoing the elevator in order to work off some of the adrenaline that is coursing through my veins. When I reach his door I don’t even knock I just walk in and drop my bags to the side. I walk into the living room.

Peeta is sitting on the couch, his laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. Something is off.

“Hey! I’m so happy to see you, there’s something that I want to tell you…” I trail off when he turns to face me. The look in his eyes is something I would never expect from him. His normally soft eyes are cold and hard. My breath catches in my throat and I feel like a concrete ball has just dropped into my stomach.

“What did you want to tell me? Did you want to tell me about this?” He asks, gesturing to the computer. His voice is calm, which scares me more than if he had yelled. I crane my neck to see the screen. I almost throw up when I see my email open. Or, specifically, the email from Seneca that I had stupidly left open last night.

“Peeta, wait, it’s not what you think,” I begin.

He cuts me off. “Not what I think? So this isn’t an email from your editor asking you to dig up my family secrets and drag my father’s name through the mud? It’s not an email that proves you’ve been using me this entire time? Katniss, I thought you were different than all of the other ones. I was falling in love with you, how could you do this?” He maintains his scarily quiet tone.

I open my mouth and close it again. I’ve never been good at saying something, but this is the worst time for that trait to pop up. I will myself to say something but every word gets caught in my throat, gagging me.

“I don’t even want to look at you. Just leave. Please, get out.”

He turns and walks into his bedroom, calmly shutting and locking the door behind him and thankfully I make it down to the sidewalk before I start to cry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I have to apologize. This one is a bit of a gut wrencher. Keri suggested that I add a 2+ tissue warning to this chapter, so there you go. Thank you to Keri (saferealalways) for being the best beta I could ever hope for. And thank you to Nicole (falafel_waffel) for teaching me how to properly mess with Everlark. All credit goes to Suzanne Collins. The song at the end of the chapter is When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars. The characters and the song do not belong to me. I hope you guys still like me after this...

Five days, two gallons of ice cream, and countless bottles of wine later, I still haven’t left my apartment. I miraculously made it home from Peeta’s apartment that night, although I could never tell you how. I blacked out when the tears started. Text messages, phone calls, and emails have gone unanswered, and when the Facebook notification of my newly “single” status came in it was like taking a bullet. The subsequent “OMG!” comments from people that I haven’t talked to since high school aren’t helping. My laptop is currently shoved under the couch cushions.

Across the room, resting where I threw it in the corner a few hours ago, my phone rings. Yesterday I would have bolted across the room, praying the whole time that it was Peeta’s number on the screen. But I know it’s not him. He’s been resiliently ignoring my existence since that afternoon in his apartment. I drag myself off of the couch and take my time walking across the room. It’s Prim.

“Yes?” I greet her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands without preamble.

“None of your business.”

“Katniss, you still haven’t left your apartment, have you?” she asks.

“Again, none of your business.”

“It is my business! You’re my sister and you’re hurting. You won’t let me come over, you won’t even talk to Jo or Annie, and you haven’t gone to work. When’s the last time you showered, Katniss? I bet your hair is in a ratty braid and you’re wearing your yoga pants with the holes in the knees and that disgusting old archery t-shirt from high school,” she huffs.

I look down at myself and can’t help but smirk.

“Actually, I’m wearing leggings but you’re right about the shirt,” I tell her.

“Goddamnit, Katniss! I have never seen you like this. Not after Cato, not even after Daddy died! I’ve never seen you cry like this!” She has resorted to all out yelling into the phone. 

My eyes well up at her words and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Don’t, Prim. Don’t talk about it, I can’t right now. I just can’t,” I say, my voice cracking and tears starting to roll freely down my cheeks.

“Yeah, well I can’t see you like this. I don’t give a shit what you say, I’m coming over right now. And don’t you dare lock yourself in your bedroom because I will kick the door in,” she growls. The line goes dead.

I sigh and drop back down on the couch, curling up facing the back and letting the sobs take over.

A half hour later, Prim barges into my living room.

“I’m so glad I gave you that key,” I mumble into the back of the couch.

“Katniss…” Prim says. I hear the concern in her voice and I feel bad. She really has never seen me like this before; I’ve always had to be the strong one. I’ve always put on a brave face and swallowed my tears for her because I was all she had. But now the roles are reversed. My baby sister has Rory, but she’s still all I have.

Prim drops her bag and walks over to the couch. I sit up and scoot over so that she can sit next to me. The moment she wraps her arms around me is the moment that the tiny bit of resolve I had built up disappears. For the second time in a month, I break down.

Prim holds me the entire time, rocking me back and forth while I soak her sweater with my tears.

“You were really falling in love with him, weren’t you?” Prim asks with a tone of disbelief. I nod into her shoulder.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” I mumble.

“You always just seemed like you didn’t have time for things like love, that’s all,” she says.

“I didn’t. And then it weaseled its way in and look where it got me,” I say, darkly, sitting up and wiping my eyes with the collar of my shirt.

“Well, what can you do to fix it?”

“Nothing, Prim. He was pretty clear. I tried to call him and text him. Hell, I even tried to email him. He won’t answer. I fucked it all up, like I knew I would,” I tell her. She purses her lips and looks away.

After the first day I spent shut in my apartment, Prim called and demanded to know what was going on. The dam burst and I told her everything. I know that she disapproves of the way I handled things, although to her credit she hasn’t come right out and said it. I kind of wish she would yell at me. It would justify how stupid I feel – for keeping the article a secret from Peeta, for not making him listen to me, for falling in love in the first damn place. But, her disapproval shows on her face and I can’t decide if that’s worse.

“Well, you can’t wallow in this anymore, Katniss. You have to get up and get moving. Live your life,” she says, stroking my tangled, ratty hair.

“Let me guess – if it’s meant to be, it will be?” I snort.

“You got it babe.”

*

I spend one more day holed up in my apartment before I can’t put real life off any longer. Exactly one week after the break up I pull myself off of the couch and decide to make an appearance at work. I drag ass through my apartment, throwing on the first articles of clothing that I can find, a black maxi skirt and a slouchy, off the shoulder t-shirt, also black. I guess I’m subconsciously in mourning.

I make my way into the bathroom and I’m shocked by what I see in the mirror. My face is pale and gaunt, the circles under my eyes are so pronounced that it looks like my eyes are sunken, and I can definitely tell that I’ve lost a few pounds.

After the initial shock comes a small flicker of rage. I’m pissed at myself for letting Peeta get under my skin. But the second I think his name, I picture his face – the cold, hard look in his eyes the last time I saw him – and the rage is replaced by the all too familiar sadness. The drowning feeling that I’ve become accustomed to settles itself in my chest again, so 

I wash my face and avoid the mirror.

When I finally make it to work, I slip in the back door and take the service elevator to my floor. I weave through the cubicles, avoiding both Haymitch’s office and Annie’s desk. I quietly settle into my space and log onto my computer.

“I thought I heard typing over there,” Annie says, her head popping up over the side of the cubicle.  
I jump, sending my keyboard halfway across the desk. “Holy hell, Annie,” I gasp.

“A little jumpy today?” she asks. She flashes me a shy smile but I can see the concern in her eyes. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay though,” I tell her, hoping that my tone conveys the fact that I really don’t want to talk about the Peeta-situation. Thankfully, although Annie can be aloof at times, she picks up on it.

“So, I’m shooting an exhibit at the Morris Arboretum this afternoon. Do you want to tag along?” she asks sweetly. I know that she couldn’t possibly know, but I wince anyway.

“That’s alright. I have a lot to catch up on,” I tell her. 

“Okie dokie. I’ll talk to you later, maybe we can do lunch or something,” she says, before disappearing down into her workspace. 

All I want to do is lose myself in my writing, but Haymitch has other ideas. He staggers past my desk and gestures for me to follow him, not even bothering to stop. When we get into his office, he flops down in his chair and instructs me to close the door.

“How’s everything going, Sweetheart?” he asks.

“Everything’s fine. I’m fine,” I respond, my voice falsely cheery.

“Bullshit. You haven’t been to the office in a week and you look like hell. What’s going on? Is it something with the boy?”

“Peeta and I broke up. But it’s ok, really. And that’s not the reason I haven’t been in, I’ve had other things going on,” I lie.

“Well what did you do?” He narrows his eyes at me.

“Why would you automatically assume that I’m the one who screwed up?” I meet his eyes with a glare of my own.

“Because I know you. And believe it or not, I know him. I went to college with his old man and we’ve kept in touch over the years. And I know that you could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve Peeta. He’s a good kid, a real good kid. So if I were you, I’d do anything I could to fix it,” Haymitch lectures.

“I tried, Haymitch. I tried, okay?” I’m starting to get a bit agitated.

“Try harder.”

*

The weekend is uneventful, as is the following week. I spend most of my time avoiding human contact and writing. I end up just turning my phone off. It’s not like Peeta is going to call, anyway.

My efforts to drop off the face of the Earth are thwarted on Friday, however. When I get home, Prim, Johanna, and Gale are sitting on my couch.

“What the hell is going on?” 

“Hello to you too, brainless,” laughs Jo. “We are going out tonight. And don’t even think of saying no, because we will drag you if we have to. That’s why we brought Gale, he’s the muscle.”

I shoot Gale a murderous look. “Traitor,” I mutter. He just grins at me sheepishly.

“So, here you go,” Prim says handing me a glass of wine, “Let’s get dressed. Make some shots or something, Gale. You know where her Goose is stashed.” And with that, I am pulled down the hallway and into my bedroom to be plucked and preened by Evil Sister and Meddling Friend.

An hour later, I emerge from my bedroom. I have been waxed, plucked, painted and coiffed to within an inch of my life, and stuffed into the tiniest little black dress I’ve ever seen. I wobble a bit on the sky-high heels Prim insisted on, but even I have to admit that I look hot.

Gale lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit, Everdeen. You are a girl.” He hands me a shot and I waste no time pouring it down my throat. I gesture for another.

“If I’m going out with you lunatics tonight, I’m going to be good and sloshed,” I tell them.

“That’s the spirit,” yells Jo, bumping Gale out of the way with her hip and handing me the bottle of vodka.

*

A few hours later, I find myself sitting in a booth in some random club in Olde City. Gale and Jo have been placating me with vodka all night, and I’ve got a heavy buzz going.

“Are you just going to sit in that booth all night long? Come dance!” Prim yells over the thumping bass. I vehemently shake my head.

“No way are you getting out of this. Let’s go!” she screams, gripping the top of my arm and dragging me out onto the packed floor.  
I wedge myself between Gale and Johanna, my back to against Gale’s chest. Johanna shakes her tits in my face and I surprise everyone by breaking into uncontrollable giggles.

“What, you don’t like my hot moves?” Johanna jokes.

“Get those melons out of my face, you tramp,” I laugh.

“Fine by me, there’s a dark haired hottie by the DJ that has my name written all over him.” And with that, she shimmies away, leaving me with a clear view of the dance floor.  
I relax into Gale’s body, his hands on my waist, our hips moving together to the beat. We’ve danced like this many times before, and I’m glad that this comfortable aspect of our friendship hasn’t been lost.

Just as I’m really starting to get into the beat, the liquor and music rushing through my veins and taking me over, I see a flash of golden blonde hair in the corner of my eye.  
I look over and immediately lock onto a pair of blue eyes, dark with anger and hurt. There is a tall, tanned, toned blonde grinding up on Peeta like she was trying to literally get under his skin but he is standing stock still and tense, all of his attention focused on me. If I were closer to him, I’d be able to see the muscle jumping in his jaw, an involuntary action when he gets angry.

I am suddenly very aware of Gale moving behind me and how it looks, so I break eye contact with Peeta and rush over to our booth, where Prim and Jo are pouring shots.

“Pour me one of those. No, pour me two,” I demand. Jo pours the shots and I down them both, one right after the other.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Prim asks.

“Peeta’s here. With another girl. We need to leave,” I tell them.

“Oh, no. We’re not leaving. Act like everything is fine, Katniss. Make him jealous,” says Jo.

“Yeah, Katniss. It will only look worse if you run away. You have to pretend like it’s not bothering you,” agrees Prim.

“Fine, but I’m not dancing anymore. Give me another shot,” I grumble as Gale walks up to the table.

“Uh, thanks for leaving me by myself. What’s your problem?” Gale asks, as my sister and friend shoot him daggers. Johanna actually makes a slashing sign by her throat, her eyes wide.

“Holy shit, Jo, don’t be so goddamn dramatic. Peeta’s here. We made eye contact, that’s why I left you there. Sorry,” I tell Gale.

“Oh shit. Do you want to leave?”

“No. Apparently I will look pathetic if I leave. I just need to take a few minutes to compose myself. You guys do your thing, I’m ok.” I pick up the bottle of vodka and swill from it. 

“Are you sure?” Gale asks.

“Positive. Let me think for a minute. Go dance, all of you.” I shoo them away.

I sit at the table, watching them dance and trying to keep my eyes off of Peeta. The DJ plays a few more bouncy, techno songs before switching to a slower tune. The piano chords fill the air that’s already heavy with sweat, booze, and pheromones. The first few lines of the song waft out from the speakers and wind their way around the swaying bodies. I can’t keep my eyes off of Peeta as he moves closer to his date, her arms twining around his neck, her head on his shoulder. He still looks slightly tense, like he’s uncomfortable being that close to her.

"Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now  
Our song on the radio but it don’t sound the same  
When our friends talk about you all it just does is tear me down  
Cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name  
It all just sounds like uh uh uh uh"

All I need right now is to hear another fucking break up song. I groan and take the opportunity to pour myself another shot. My head swims with the alcohol and I feel drunk, until I look up and lock eyes with Peeta for the second time that night. My stomach clenches and I suddenly feel stone cold sober. 

The look on his face isn’t one of anger, like I expected. It is one of overwhelming sadness. He holds eye contact as he rocks back and forth, another girl wrapped in his arms, and as he stares into my eyes he starts mouthing the lyrics. 

"Oh too young, too dumb to realize  
That I should have bought you flowers and held your hand  
Should have gave you all my hours when I had the chance  
Take you to every party cause all you wanted to do was dance  
Now my baby’s dancing, but she’s dancing with another man"

I feel as though hands are wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air supply. I can’t take it anymore. Pushing the table out of my way and knocking over several bottles and glasses, I stagger to my feet and toward the closest exit. I hear my sister and friends calling my name, but their voices sound like they’re underwater so I just push past sweaty, drunk bodies until I reach the door. I push the door open violently and burst into the cool night, sucking in the crisp air. I gulp it in, shallow breaths that don’t seem to give my brain enough oxygen.

I start walking before I have the chance to throw up. I make it halfway down the block before I start to sob.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to safe-real-always for being the best beta in the world and to chelziebelle for prereading and all of her amazing input into this chapter! Love you guys! THG does not belong to me - It's Suzanne Collins' world, I just live in it.

I make it two blocks from the club before Peeta's car pulls up next to me. Thankfully, I've calmed my sobs into dull hiccups. I keep my eyes trained forward, too proud and absolutely unwilling to look at him. He rolls down the window.

“Katniss, stop.”

I keep walking. His car creeps along next to me.

“Will you please just get in the car?” he asks.

“No,” I reply, curtly.

“You can't deny that we need to talk. Get in the car and talk to me. Please?” I hear his voice waver.

I stop in my tracks and shoot him a glare. “Where were you when I wanted to talk to you a month ago?” I spit out. He slams on the breaks, causing the tires to squeal and me to turn towards him for the first time.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks in disbelief, anger flashing in his eyes.

“No, I am not kidding you, Peeta. If you wanted to talk, you should have done it sooner. Clearly you were, excuse me, occupied by other things.”

“You have a lot of nerve, Katniss. Like you weren't rubbing your ass all over Gale Hawthorne, of all people. Now, you could just get in the goddamned car, or I will be waiting at your apartment when you get there. Your choice,” he hisses.

I walk for two more blocks, Peeta crawling along beside me in his car, deathly silent and shooting me the occasional glare. When my heel breaks at the beginning of the third, I stomp over to his car and slam my way into the passenger seat.

The rest of the ride is spent in stubborn silence. The air is thick and heavy from the tension between us, and I know that the only reason either of us hasn't said anything is because we're both being stubborn and spiteful.

When we arrive at my apartment, I bolt out of the car and slam the door. I make my way quickly up the stairs, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. After the spectacle in the club, the last thing that I want to do is talk to him. My stomach is in knots thinking about the conversation we are about to have, not to mention the fact that must I look like a lunatic. My meticulously applied makeup has to be running down my face from the torrential downpour of tears I let loose earlier, and I know that my hair is a ruined mess from the amount of times I've run my hands through it. When I reach my front door, I unlock it and make my way straight to the bathroom, leaving it slightly propped open for Peeta. I think about shutting and locking the deadbolt to avoid the situation entirely, but even now I can't make myself shut him out completely.

I hear him slam the door as I'm splashing cold water on my face. When all of the black streaks are gone, I pull my hair into a knot and slip off my dress, grabbing a pair of yoga pants and a tank top from the pile on top of the hamper. I'd rather wear the clothes that I slept in the night before than the dress I wore to the club – it smells of alcohol and regret. I take a moment to catch my breath before I head out into the living room.

 

When I step into the living room, Peeta is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. I allow myself a quick glance up to his face and I see the rage that flashes behind his eyes. Their clear blue has darkened and his jaw is set. I can see the muscle pulsing as he grinds his teeth. I quickly lower my eyes and make my way to the couch, where I sit on the middle cushion, crossing my own arms and steadily avoiding his gaze.

We sit there in silence for what feels like hours, when in reality it can't have been more than a minute or two. He finally clears his throat and I bring my eyes up to meet his.

“Are you going to say anything?” he starts.

“I had a lot to say weeks ago. You didn't want to hear it then, so why do you suddenly want to hear it now?” I snap.

“God dammit, Katniss!” He slams his fist against the wall behind him before stalking across the room to stare out the living room window. He is silent for a few seconds before whirling around and catching me with a steely glare. “No, you know what? I don't give a fuck what you have to say. I have a lot to share so you can just fucking listen. Who the hell do you think you are? You come into my life, you play games with me from the beginning with the whole 'I don't want you, I want you' act. I thought you were different, Katniss. I feel like I proved myself over and over again to you, but you still lied. You lied the whole time we were together. I thought it was real, but it wasn't. It wasn't real.” He chokes out the last sentence and turns back to the window.

Up until now I had been passively seething, hoping to avoid the whole situation, but I feel something snap inside of me at his words. I jump up from my position on the couch, cross the room and grab his wrist, pulling him until he faces me.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You didn't want to hear anything I had to say. You didn't let me explain myself at all!” I shout.

He wrenches his wrist from my grasp and meets my glare with one of his own. “What the fuck is there to explain, Katniss? You used me!” he shouts back. “Why would I want to hear anything you had to say? Your words were right there in that email. The email that you left up on my computer, which is really fucking stupid, by the way. I would think that you would cover your ass a little bit better than that.”

“Well what about you? If it was so real for you, why did you just jump into bed with the first random you saw? You know, the tall leggy blonde that you couldn't keep your hands off of tonight?” I spit out.

“Don't even act like you didn't have your ass pressed up against Hawthorne all night. Let me guess, he swooped in to pick up the pieces as soon as he saw I was out of the picture. What a classy guy,” Peeta growls, taking a step closer and glaring down at me.

I push his chest forcefully, causing him to stumble backwards. I spin and quickly cross the room, heading down the hallway towards my bedroom. Peeta follows, grabbing my arm and spinning me around. He backs me up against the wall of the hallway, and when his body is flush against mine, he grabs my chin forcefully and before I can even catch my breath, he seals his mouth over mine. My lips part instinctively and his tongue finds its way in. Neither of us is willing to give up control, so our tongues battle for dominance in a messy, forceful, angry kiss. I nip at his bottom lip, not caring whether or not I hurt him. His answering moan tells me that he doesn't mind.

I don't realize that I had been holding my breath until Peeta pulls away. I pant as he rests his head against my forehead, his own chest heaving from his labored breathing. He looks at me, anger still flashing in his eyes, although the rage is slightly dulled.

“Did he kiss you like that, Katniss? Did you let him fuck you?” His voice is a low growl. He tilts his hips up so that I can feel him, his hardness brushing against me.

“Nothing happened with him, you fucking asshole. Did you fuck your blonde model?” I counter, with a grind of my own hips. He bucks against me and narrows his eyes.

“No, I didn't,” he answers.

“But you were going to,” I say.

“No, I wasn't,” he murmurs, before dipping his head down to latch himself onto my neck. He sucks forcefully and I can already feel the warmth of the bruise rising to the surface. “As pissed off as I am at you, you're still all I can think about.”

My hips jerk forward at his words and he moves his hand down to cup me through the fabric of my pants, his fingers find my clit and press down, hard and unyielding.

I moan into his ear. “Don't fucking tease me, Mellark. If you're going to fuck me, do it now.”

Before the words are even fully out of my mouth, I find myself thrown over Peeta's shoulder as he stalks down the hallway and into my bedroom.

He lays me down on the bed and grabs my hips roughly, pulling me down so that my pelvis is just at the edge. He wastes no time peeling off my yoga pants and underwear at the same time. I try to close my legs at my sudden nakedness but he grabs my thighs and pushes them apart.

“No. Touch yourself,” he commands.

He backs up and begins undoing his belt as I trail my fingers down and brush the sensitive bundle of nerves. I shiver at the contact. By the time I reach down to slip a finger inside, his pants are around his ankles and he knocks my hand aside. With one quick thrust, he is fully sheathed. He pauses for only for a second before beginning to pump his hips quickly and roughly.

I wrap my legs around his waist and he leans over me on his forearms, his forehead resting against mine. We don't kiss, but our eye contact is steady and unbroken. I see the hurt and anger in his eyes, as well as the lust. I'm sure he sees the same in mine.

Peeta's thrusts remain steady and I meet his hips with my own. The tension is building, but I need more to be thrown fully over the edge. As if he’s reading my mind, Peeta reaches his hand down and grazes his thumb over my clit, and it is my undoing.

I feel myself clenching around him as the spring in my stomach uncoils. I pant and moan and scratch his back, his name falling from my lips like a chant.

He doesn't let up on his thrusts as he pulls down the front of my tank top, exposing my breasts. His mouth finds a nipple and he bites down, causing me to gasp and thread my fingers into his silky curls. His hips begin to jerk erratically and I feel him start to twitch inside of me. Peeta collapses on my chest as he spills himself into me.

We lay there for a good amount of time, Peeta still inside me as we both catch our breath. I don't know who made the first move, but before I know it we're both naked and under the comforter, Peeta curled up against my back as we both drift off into a blissful, sated sleep.

*

I wake up with Peeta's hardness pressed into my backside and a delicious ache between my legs. Peeta sighs behind me and I turn in his arms to gaze at his sleeping face. His jaw is slack and there is a look of peace on his face as he snores gently – a welcome change from the anger that was there last night. As much as I am enjoying my view, I know that he and I need to talk about last night and I'm just not ready. I slip from his embrace and dress in the same clothes I wore last night. Peeta snuggles deeper into the sheets, moving his head onto my pillow. He smiles in his sleep.

I make my way to the kitchen, stretching out my stiff limbs as I go. I put on a pot of coffee and rummage around in the freezer for some frozen waffles. Peeta will probably be horrified. The image of his disgusted face staring down at a plate of Eggos flashes in my mind and I giggle.

“What's so funny?”

I jump at the unexpected question and turn to see Peeta standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame and gazing at me shyly.

I hold up the box of waffles. “I was picturing your look of horror when I serve you these.”

“Ugh, throw those out. Disgusting.” He shakes his head. “Look, Katniss, about last night...”

“Peeta, stop,” I interrupt him, holding up my hand. He shuts his mouth and crosses his arms, looking at me expectantly. “I need to explain some things to you, and I should have done it from the beginning. I was assigned that piece when we first met. I didn't know how to handle the situation; here I was in my first serious position as a writer and I didn't want to blow it. But I was never going to write that piece, Peeta. I just needed to figure a way out of it, which I did. Right before I came to your apartment that day, I had told Crane that I had a conflict of interest and that he needed to reassign it. I should have told you about it though and I'm sorry.”

I take a deep breath and venture a look at Peeta. He stares at me for a moment, searching my eyes. I meet his gaze, trying to show him with my eyes that I'm telling the truth and that I'm sorry for the way I went about things.

Peeta pushes off of the door frame and in two strides is standing in front of me. He tilts my chin up and brushes his lips on mine, swiftly but sweetly, before pulling me to him and wrapping his arms around me.

“I'm sorry, too” he murmurs into my tousled hair. “I should have listened to you. I was just so angry. I'm used to people using me for my father, but it's never hurt as badly as that did. I just threw all reason out the window.”

I sigh and press my face into his chest, letting the dull thump of his heart lull me into a semi-trance. I take a deep breath in, drawing his familiar scent into my lungs. This is where I belong.

A thought comes to me and I clear my throat. “So, um, what about the girl you were with?” I ask tentatively.

He tenses up. “Glimmer. Her father is a very wealthy man that my dad is trying to woo into donating money to his campaign. My mom made me go out with her a few times. She's a nice girl, but there's nothing there,” he answers.

“How far did it go? Be honest with me. If we're going to do this, we need to be honest,” I tell him, almost choking on the words. Some part of me needs to know.

“Kissing. A little more, but no sex,” he answers.

A pinch of jealousy twists my gut, but I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“I wasn't kidding when I said I still thought of you all the time, Katniss. I didn't want to be with anyone else. What about you and Gale?”

“Nothing, I swear. My biggest interaction this past month has been with Ben and Jerry,” I tell him.

The air seems calmer since our confessions, the tension has left the room and my shoulders. I look up at Peeta. “You know, this honesty thing is really nice. We should come up with some guidelines for how we're going to move forward together,” I propose.

“Like, rules?” he asks, scrunching his nose.

“No, not rules... more like what our limits are. What we need from each other,” I say.

“I like that idea,” he says, nodding his head.

“Come here.” I grab his hand and lead him to the couch, scooping a yellow legal pad and pen off of the dining room table as I go. We settle on the couch and I prop the pad on a throw pillow. I label the sheet “K&P Part 2 Guidelines” writing with my tongue poking out between my lips.

“Such a journalist,” Peeta teases, poking me in the side.

“Shut up,” I laugh. “Okay, number one should be that we stay completely honest with each other, about everything.”

“Definitely. Number two: we have to trust each other.” He takes the pad and writes down number two.

“Three, no matter what, we have to communicate with each other.” I write it down.

“And four, let's make it a point to have 'state of the union' discussions – we can both get our feelings out on the table,” he proposes.

“Anything else?” I ask him.

“I like those for now. Short and sweet. We can add to it if need be,” he tells me. “Now, a more pressing matter of business. Last night isn't how I wanted out first time to be, so I'll just have to make it up to you now.”

Peeta winks and heads towards the bedroom. “Coming?” he calls over his shoulder, his eyes flashing devilishly. I practically run to catch up with him.

When I walk into the bedroom, Peeta is sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands in his lap. I stand in front of him and he pulls me down to straddle his lap. Our lips meet and I instantly find my hands buried in his hair. I feel him harden beneath me and I shift in his lap, grazing his growing erection. He jerks up, pulling my hips down to increase the friction.

“I've thought of this so many times,” he whispers into my neck, his breath making me shiver.

Without warning, he flips me over and scoots me up to the middle of the bed. He lowers himself on top of me, our hips gyrating as we continue our kiss. We move together in tandem, slow and deliberate. Peeta's bare chest presses against me and I need to feel his skin on mine. I reach between us and grab the hem of my shirt but Peeta's hands push mine aside.

“Let me,” he says, lifting the tank top gently up and over my head. I lift my arms up to slip it fully off.

Instead of settling back down on top of me, Peeta moves lower down on the bed, trailing kisses across my stomach before hooking his hands in the top of my pants and sliding them off deftly. This time, I don't try to hide myself from him, I leave my legs splayed as he licks up the inside of my thigh. He takes his time, kissing and licking everywhere except the one spot I'm aching for him to focus on.

“Peeta, please,” I pant.

“Please what?” he teases.

“You know what,” I tell him.

Instead of answering me he flattens his tongue and swipes it through my folds, stopping to suck on my clit briefly before repeating the action over and over. I let out a whimper when he adds his fingers into the mix.

“Is that what you want?” he asks.

“Y-yes,” I stammer. He continues to use his teeth, tongue, and fingers to build me into a frenzy before he abruptly pulls his head away and settles himself next to me, propped up on the pillows.

“What? What the hell,” I protest.

“I want to be inside of you when you come.” He gazes at me with hooded eyes. “Come here.”

I climb on Peeta's lap and position him at my entrance before I slowly sink down, taking him in fully. We both groan as he fills me. He grabs my hips and I start to move, grinding into his pelvis so that I hit the perfect spot on every downstroke, causing a fire to spark in my belly. It doesn't take long before I feel myself begin to lose control.

He looks into my eyes. “Come.”

As soon as the word spills from his mouth the tension that had been building snaps like a rubber band, causing my body to collapse on his chest and moan out his name as my walls contract around his length. The orgasm seems to last impossibly long, and Peeta's hands roaming up and down my sides and over my breasts cause my overly sensitive skin to break out in goosebumps.

 

As I start to come back to earth, Peeta flips me over so that he is looming over me, his weight resting on his hands. He pumps slowly at first, gradually gaining speed until his hips jerk with no recognizable rhythm and I feel him spill hotly into me. After he recovers from his own release, he brings his head down to rest on my chest. I twine my arms around his neck, slowly regaining the ability to function.

“Here's to our second first time,” he mumbles between my breasts and I let out a laugh.

“Hear, hear.”

We don't leave the bedroom until after our fourth first time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I am so sorry that this took so long. The past year has been a pretty tumultuous one for me and my husband. But, I'm back and I promise I won't let another year go by before I update again. I really hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for sticking with me!
> 
> A hundred thousand "thank yous" to fnurfnur for beta-ing this chapter and for texting/snapchatting me the most hilarious things.

I wake the next morning with the same delicious ache between my thighs. I stretch my arms and legs, expecting to hit Peeta’s sleeping form, but my limbs touch nothing but cold sheets. I frown and sit up, swinging myself off of the bed and padding my way into the living room to look for him.

The living room is empty but the kitchen light is on and I can smell blueberries and maple syrup. I round the corner and enter the kitchen, only to be disappointed when I see that it is empty. My mood lifts a little when I see the stack of pancakes waiting for me on the counter. Beside the plate sits the yellow legal pad from the night before. The page with our “rules” is ripped out and secured to the side of my refrigerator, but on the fresh sheet underneath is a note, written in Peeta’s familiar scrawl.

“Had to go home and change before I went into the restaurant. Stop by when you get a chance, I’ll be there most of the day.”

I smile inwardly as I smother my pancakes with butter and syrup and devour them standing right there at the kitchen counter. As I chew, I think about the fact that only twenty four hours ago, I was miserable.

The thought of something more with Peeta had terrified me from the beginning. But after losing him, I feel like I’ve woken up from a long hibernation - my long buried urge for meaningful companionship was struggling towards the surface, like a flower bud sprouting through thick topsoil. In that moment, my normally reasonable brain gives over to my long dormant impulsive side and I mentally reach for the MiracleGro.

There’s a lot that Peeta and I will have to overcome. But I decide, right then and there, that I’m in it for the long haul.

*

A quick shower and change later, I’m heading out of the door. As I’m walking, I realize that I haven’t heard from my sister or friends since I left the club two nights ago. Even if they had tried to get in contact with me I wouldn’t have responded; Peeta and I have been content in our own little bubble. I pull out and swipe, quickly finding Gale’s name listed under my favorites. It rings once and then goes to voicemail. That idiot is probably still hung over from two nights ago. I realize that I’m only a few blocks from his apartment, so I decide to swing by and see if he needs anything.

I don’t bother pressing the call button; I just punch the code into the lobby door and head to the elevator, pulling out my key along the way. I push the button for Gale’s floor and lazily flip through my phone as I wait for the elevator.

Once I’m in front of his door, I fit the key into the lock and push. It doesn’t budge, so I try the deadbolt, even though Gale never uses it, even when he goes out. I frown as I realize that it is indeed locked. Weird.

“Gale! Have you been in bed since you left the club? I know you can’t handle your liquor, but damn!” I shout towards his closed bedroom door, dropping my jacket and bag on his dining room table and making my way into the kitchen. I open up the fridge – he has to have a bottle of Gatorade or something in here. 

A few thumps and a muffled “Shit!” come from behind the bedroom door before Gale emerges and quickly shuts the door behind him, his dark hair mussed and a pair of pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Catnip, what the fuck are you doing here?” Gale asks, breathless. His cheeks are rosy, like he had just finished a run.

“I wanted to make sure you were still alive. After all the crap that went down the other night, you didn’t even call. And you are the nosiest asshole I’ve ever met so I figured you were sick or dead or something.”

“No, I, uh… I’ve just been busy,” he stammers.

“Oh yea, you look like you’ve been super busy.” I roll my eyes.

“Look, this isn’t the best time. Can I give you a call later?” He asks.

“What do you mean it isn’t the best...” I trail off as the realization hits me. My voice drops to an exaggerated whisper. “Gale, do you have a girl in there? Oh my God! Who is it?”

Gale flushes, his skin staining bright red from his hairline all the way down to his chest. “No one, Katniss. Just go, I’ll call you later.”

“Who is it?” I demand again.

“Jesus Christ, brainless!” Johanna pops her head out from behind the bedroom door at that moment, causing both Gale and I to jump. “Can you please just shut up and leave? I am trying to get laid here!”

I look at Gale, my eyes all but popping out of my head. “No fucking way.”

Gale just stares at the ceiling, shifting from foot to foot, looking like he would give anything to have the earth open up and swallow him whole. Johanna clears her throat loudly and looks pointedly at the door.

I snort as I make my way out. “Oh, this conversation is so not over, you two.”

I manage to make it into the elevator before I burst out laughing, pulling out my phone and scrolling down to Prim’s name. She, thankfully, answers after only two rings.

“Primrose Everdeen. You will never guess what I just saw.”

“All of Peeta?” She guesses.

“What? No! Well, I mean, yes. But that’s not the point.” 

“Wait! I was just kidding! You really did?” she squeals.

“Yes, but I have something more pressing to address before we get to that. What happened after I left the club on Friday night?” I ask her.

“I tried to follow you, but when we saw Peeta leave his tramp on the dance floor to go after you, I figured it would be best to leave you guys alone. About a half an hour later, Rory came and picked me up. Jo and Gale didn’t want to leave, so they just said they would call a cab. Why?” 

“Oh, just because it seems like Gale and Johanna shared a cab. And a bed,” I inform her.

“So? We were all really drunk. We’ve all slept in the same bed at some point or another.” Prim’s voice is confused and I roll my eyes. She is the smartest person I’ve ever met but she can be so dense sometimes.

“No, Prim. They shared a bed all night, then all day yesterday, and apparently all morning today,” I tell her, slowly. She gasps.

“No!”

“Yes. They are totally boning.” I laugh.

“Speaking of boning…” Prim trails off, ever my discreet baby sister.

“I am so not going there with you, Primrose.”

“Oh my god, Katniss, after all of the shit I just watched you go through, you better give me something!” she squeals.

I think about my baby sister barging in and kicking me in my ass. I hated her at the time, but I can’t deny that she is exactly what I needed. I decide to throw her a bone, no pun intended.

“Fine. We had incredibly hot hate sex, followed by incredibly sweet make-up sex and I can barely walk today. Is that what you want to hear?” I am trying to sound stern but it’s just not working. 

“Tell me more! I need details!” Prim pushes, excitedly. She’s so bubbly and sweet, even when she is being ridiculously nosy.

“You are not going to get details, little sister. Just know that the man is skilled,” I laugh into the phone. “I have to go, I’ll call you later.” I hang up before she can protest.

I make my way through the narrow streets, winding my way through the city until I come to Sage.

I stop and marvel for a minute at the building. It’s a decently sized brick building with an oversized bay window that has lush, multicolored drapes framing the view of the diners inside. The name of the restaurant is painted across the window in a simplistic, zen looking font, the color a light green. It’s so simple but so perfect, intriguing enough to draw your eye. It perfectly complements the décor that I know is inside. Peeta has mixed and matched color in a way that no one I know can do; he uses them to invoke emotions and it leaves me in awe.

I make my way across the cobblestone sidewalk and up the steps, pushing open the door and stepping into Peeta’s oasis. I wave to Delly and she points down the hall towards Peeta’s office. I smile at her as I pass. She returns it sincerely and I’m unsure whether or not she knows what has been going on recently with Peeta and me.

I open the door to the office quietly, without knocking, and I’m greeted with the sight of Peeta hunched over his desk, his face screwed up in concentration. He has a stack of ledgers spread in front of him and is furiously punching away at a calculator. I clear my throat and he jumps slightly.

His face breaks out into an infectious grin when his eyes meet mine and I feel my face moving of its own accord into a smile of my own. He pushes back from his desk and gestures for me to come closer. When I’m within his arms’ reach, he pulls me into his lap and kisses me before nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck. His breath gives me the shivers and I can’t help but twine my arms around his neck, catching my hands in his thick, golden hair.

“Hey, you got my note,” he says, his voice muffled in my skin, the heat of his breath radiating across my skin and making me tingle.

Before I can stop myself, I pull his head back by the hair until his lips are tilted perfectly and I can lean down and seal my own over them. His mouth parts voluntarily and he hungrily drinks me in, using his tongue and teeth to take my breath away.

Eventually, Peeta pushes me back slightly and breaks the kiss, sucking in mouthfuls of air. I follow suit, flooding my lungs with oxygen in an attempt to calm my pounding heart.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, a playful glint in his eye. He wraps his arms around my waist and nuzzles into my chest.

I start to answer him, but I jump as I feel his phone vibrate against my butt.

“Are you going to get that?”

“Mmm no,” he answers, nuzzling further into my sweater. The phone continues buzzing against my backside.

“Oh my god, Peeta, that’s so annoying. Just answer it.” I jump up from his lap. He grudgingly fishes the cell out of his pocket and swipes the screen, his eyes darkening when he sees who the caller is.   
he mumbles a greeting into the mouthpiece.

His tone is hushed and he limits his sentences to one word answers delivered in a monotone. My stomach drops when I deduce who is on the line.

“I told you, it didn’t work out with her, Mother. I’m seeing someone else,” Peeta growls into the phone. “No… I – I just - okay.” He finally concedes, letting out a long sigh. “I’ll ask her.”

He listens for a few more seconds then mumbles a goodbye before setting the phone on the desk. He looks at me sheepishly through his eyelashes.

“What are you supposed to be asking me?”

“Well…” he starts and trails off, shifting in his chair.

“Oh, spit it out, Mellark.” I plop myself on the desk in front of him, pushing his papers and phone out of the way and swinging my legs so that the rest on either side of his lap. He unconsciously reaches up and starts rubbing my thighs.

“That was my mom. She wants you to come for dinner tonight.”

“That’s it? Of course I’ll come, no problem,” I tell him, dropping off the desk to straddle him fully. His arms snake around my waist and he starts rubbing my lower back in small, absentminded circles.

“I don’t think you understand, Katniss. It’s not that easy. My mother is pissed that I’m not dating Glimmer. She is…not going to be nice to you.”

“Will it make your life easier if I go?”

“Hopefully it will get her off of my back for a while,” he snorts.

“Then I’ll go.” I clamp my hand over his mouth as he starts to protest. “Be quiet. I’m going.”

*

I tug my charcoal pencil skirt down and shift in my conservative black pumps as I stare up at the posh building located on South Broad Street in Rittenhouse Square. It’s one of the most beautiful – and wealthy – neighborhoods in the city. Peeta’s parents own a condo in one of the older looking buildings, its cream-colored façade decorated with elaborate gold molding. A doorman stands at attention by the glass and chrome doorway, flanked on either side by lush, green shrubbery.

“A doorman? Are you sure you want to take me in there? You can find some classy broad who doesn’t live in Fishtown and just tell your parents that she’s me. They’ll never know – we can just call her up whenever you have to come here,” I babble nervously to Peeta. 

At the restaurant I had been so certain that tonight would be no big deal. But I had also been overlooking the fact that Peeta’s father is a senator. A very wealthy senator. And I was just a poor kid from Bucks County.

“It’s going to be fine. You look great, you are great, and they are going to love you.” Peeta grabs my hand and starts pulling me towards the door. “My dad will, at least.”

I let him tug me through the lobby and our heels click on the marble floor. We halt in front of an elevator with dark wood doors tucked discreetly in the corner and Peeta pushes the call button. We step inside and I can feel my heart hammer in my throat as we ascend. After a too-short ride, the doors slide open on the top floor.

“Ready?” Peeta looks at me nervously. I have to swallow a few times before I answer him.

“Let’s do this.”

Peeta once again twines his fingers in mine and strides through the front door through the foyer and into a high-ceilinged living room, furnished with sleek, modern furniture. The fireplace crackles warmly in the corner, but everything else about the room is cold and detached. Black leather and sharp angles seemed to be the common motif.

“Peeta, is that you? You’re late,” a sharp, high-pitched voice trilled down the hallway across the room. A petite, steely blonde strides into the room and looks at Peeta with cold eyes. She doesn’t even acknowledge me.

Peeta steps forward and kisses her briefly on each cheek. She looks flawless in her form-fitting black dress, from her diamond drop earrings down to her Louboutin stilettos. I can see his spine stiffen when she reaches up and places her hands on his biceps, deliberately keeping him from getting too close to her. He steps back and wraps his arm around me, pulling me in close.

“Mom, this is Katniss. My girlfriend,” He looks at me hopefully when he says the word “girlfriend” and I wink back at him. 

“I’ll allow it,” I mouth to him silently.

Mrs. Mellark clears her throat softly, pulling our attention back to her. 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Mellark. Thank you for having me,” I say, stepping forward and offering my hand. She lets it hang in the empty space between us while her piercing blue eyes size me up, travelling from my bargain sale Jimmy Choo pumps (a thrift shop steal), up to my carefully braided hair. She turns on her heel and clicks down the hallway, calling behind her, “Dinner is almost ready.   
Come, your father and brothers are already here.”

We follow behind her, keeping our distance. I’m beginning to realize why Peeta was so hesitant to bring me here. I drag my feet as we round the corner and the hall opens up into a huge lounge area. The far wall is comprised completely of floor to ceiling windows overlooking Rittenhouse Square. The opposite wall has shelf upon shelf filled with antique looking books complimenting the overstuffed furniture arranged around a billiards table, and a beautiful marble wet bar takes up an entire corner. A shorter, stockier man with thinning blond hair - a darker, sandier shade that matches Peeta’s perfectly – is leaning against the bar, one hand clutched around a highball glass filled with amber liquid and the other tousling the hair of what I assume is one of Peeta’s brothers.

The two men turn as we enter the room and the older man’s face breaks into a delighted grin. He leaves his glass on the bar and is across the room in a few strides, wrapping Peeta in a bone-crushing hug.

“Son! I’m so glad you’re here!” Senator Mellark booms in a deep voice that I didn’t expect to come from him. His tone is jovial and affectionate and he holds Peeta for several moments, obviously unwilling to let go.

Peeta’s grin is wide as he embraces his dad. “It’s good to see you, old man.”

The two men finally break apart and we make our way over to the bar. Senator Mellark reaches for me and scoops me up in my own warm hug once we reach our destination.

“You must be Katniss. I can see how happy you make my son!” he gushes, and I can see why so many people have voted for him.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Senator,” I start.

“Oh, please. Call me Hansen. This my oldest son, Bri,” he gestures to the lankier man sipping a Heineken, his bright blonde hair matching Mrs. Mellark’s, “And Rusk is around here somewhere…”  
At the sound of his name, Peeta’s middle brother pops his sandy blonde head up from behind the bar, a bottle of rum grasped in his hand.

“Well, hello, gorgeous. What are you doing hanging out with my brother?” he exclaims, his wide grin showing off two rows of sparkling, perfect teeth.

I chuckle at his boisterous demeanor and extend my hand first to Bri, then to Rusk.

“It’s nice to meet all of the Mellark men. Peeta has told me so much about you.” I chuckle, unable to contain my glee at being surrounded by equally gorgeous, hilarious versions of Peeta.  
Before I know it, I’m sipping on a glass of the best cabernet that I have ever tasted and Peeta is nursing a scotch and water with his father. We are all chatting amicably.

“Ahem.” Mrs. Mellark’s steely voice cuts through all of the comfortable conversation. “Dinner is on the table.”

We make our way into the dining room. The table is set elaborately and elegantly. Mrs. Mellark positions herself at the head of the table and waits for us all to sit before settling into her own plush chair. Without cue, an older lady wearing all black wheels in a cart covered with plates. She begins placing the plates in front of us, serving Mrs. Mellark first. I quirk my eyebrow at Peeta and he just shrugs, his neck flushing pink.

The Mellark boys quickly pick up their forks and slip into an easy banter as we enjoy our salads. They engage me just as easily and I let myself fall into sync with them as if I have known them all for years.

I’m in the middle of ribbing Rusk about his floppy, seemingly un-Mellark haircut when the main course is brought in.

“Peeta, I had Sae prepare your favorite. Petite filet with red potatoes and asparagus,” cuts in Mrs. Mellark.

“I’m well aware of what my favorite meal is, Mother,” Peeta half-mutters.

Her eyes cut quickly up to his face and he stiffens as she glares at him.

“Peeta, I will not have this from you tonight.”

Hansen clears his throat and starts to change the subject but his wife holds up her hand and the words catch in his throat. Bri and Rusk just stare at their plates, pushing their food around. My eyes dart from Peeta to Mrs. Mellark.

I see the myriad of emotions flit across Peeta’s features in a split second, starting with fear and ending with defiance.

“You won’t have what, Mother?” He quirks his head to the side, as if he is genuinely curious.

“Your backtalk and your ungrateful attitude,” says Mrs. Mellark through gritted teeth.

“Ungrateful? When have I ever been ungrateful?” Peeta shakes his head in disbelief.

“All of the effort I have put into making life better for you, and you just turn your head. I give you the finest things in life and you pass them up in favor of trash.” As the words leave her mouth, Mrs. Mellark’s gaze rests on me, her mouth turning up in a sneer. My spine goes rigid and my hand fists around my napkin. My heart is thumping rapidly as I try to sort through what is going on. I don’t know if I should pretend like I don’t know what she’s talking about or spit in her face. Luckily, Peeta’s father clears his throat before I can make a decision.

“Maybe you and Peeta should continue this conversation in private,” he says nonchalantly, as if he is discussing last night’s Phillies game.  
Mrs. Mellark shoves her chair back and stalks through the swinging doors to the left of the table. Peeta shoots his father a glare before following behind her, stopping to plant a kiss on the top of my head.

Hansen starts half-heartedly telling a story about some mishap at a political event, but we can all hear the conversation taking place in the next room.

“We have given you everything, Peeta! Everything! Anything you have ever asked for – cars, vacations, the best education money could provide! We helped you with your little restaurant project, even though we disapprove! I ask you for one thing in return and how do you repay me? Do you know what Glimmer’s family could do for your father? Not to mention that you would be with someone that can only bring you up the social ladder. You can’t take that girl out in public!” she shrieks.

No one acknowledges the fact that “that girl” is sitting at the dining room table, but I didn’t expect them to. I decide that I am two seconds from excusing myself and walking across the entire city to get home when Peeta stalks through the kitchen door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mrs. Mellark stomps through the doorway behind him.

Peeta doesn’t say a word, he just pulls me out of my chair and practically drags me out of the room. A quick glance behind me reveals a fuming Mrs. Mellark, an embarrassed looking Senator Mellark, and the two remaining sons staring at their place settings.

*

A half an hour later, we’re sitting on Peeta’s couch. I’m clutching a glass of wine and he has a glass with two fingers of whiskey on the table in front of him, neat. He leans over, his head in his hands.

“I’m so sorry, Katniss. I don’t know why I brought you there in the first place,” he mumbles.

I put my wine onto the coffee table and scoot across the couch. I have the sudden urge to be as close to him as possible. I want to crawl under his skin, feel his chest rise with every breath. I push him back and swing my leg over him, settling myself in his lap and crushing my front to his. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and breathe in, his scent heady and intoxicating.

“Stop it. I don’t care about her. I care about you. I want you, so much.”

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. His chin nudges my face up and his lips catch mine, searing my lips. It only takes a second for me to realize that he is crying, hot tears dripping slowly down his flushed cheeks. Still, I don’t break my lips from his. I move in sync because I know that’s what he needs.

We stay this way for a while, music playing softly in the background, our lips moving languidly. We are in no rush.

I hear the notes of one of my favorite songs start to drift around us and as Peeta holds me, I dip my lips to his ear and start to sing.

“Well, I won’t give up on us  
God knows I’m tough enough  
We’ve got a lot to learn  
God knows we’re worth it”

Peeta looks up at me as I finish the song, his eyes tearing up again. A thousand emotions flit across his face – as long as I’ve known him, he’s never been good at hiding his feelings. Every one that I see in that moment shows me how he really feels about me.

“Katniss, I love you.”


End file.
